What Lurks in the Maze
by GiftedGal
Summary: Ghost lives in the Maze. She stays out of WICKED's way, and they leave her alone. That is, until she breaks her only rule by saving a newbie from the Grievers one night, and is thrown into the Glader's world. It seems she may hold the key to what the Gladers want most. But Ghost knows something the boys don't: they are all pieces in WICKED's game; and they are there for a reason.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello lovely people! GG here, with my first Maze Runner story. I feel this is long overdue, seeing as it is one of my favorite series of all time. I've read the first book 8 times. Not even kidding about that…  
Anyway, the events will be ones from the book (with my own spin on them), not from the movie, so if you have only seen the movie, you may be confused about some things. Also, read the book! It's AMAZING!**

CHAPTER 1

My name is Ghost. I must not interfere.

That is all I know about myself. Not a single personal fact, no name or face of any family. The only memories I have are of the Maze, running its passages, climbing its walls. I don't know what I look like, because I've never looked in a mirror. The boys have mirrors, I bet, back in their little hide-away. The Glade, they call it.

I've never been inside, only gazed upon it from atop the towering walls or in the caves close to the Doors. I don't know much about them, only that they live in comfort within the safety of their walls. Only a few brave souls dare venture into the endless labyrinth that is my home. The Runners.

They are the only thing I have to go on about human abilities, and from what information I've gathered, I have some pretty strange ones. Ordinary humans can't jump a hundred feet straight in the air, or hear grievers coming from miles away. Ordinary humans don't glow in the dark.

Yeah, you heard me right. I glow in the dark. My skin glows a light blue, so I can navigate at night and see in the dark. That's also where I get my name. The Gladers have never seen me, but they have caught a glimpse of my glow through a window they have that they use to show new boys the Grievers. Some of the Runners have seen my shadow turning corners. I'm a mystery to them, so they call me the Phantom.

My feet pound soundlessly against the cracked concrete ground of the corridors of the Maze. My breathing is heavy but even, due to my superhuman stamina. I run the passages without thinking, body moving on its own, as if on autopilot. I stopped having to focus on remembering how to get where I want to go long ago. Now, every twist and turn is on instinct, and my spirits soar with the exhilaration of running.

I got so caught up in the feeling of freedom that running gives me that I forgot I was being chased. The whirs and clicks of the Griever pursuing me spur on, and I push to go faster and faster. Gradually, I put more and more distance between me mad the monster, until I can no longer hear its moans. I keep running, knowing I'm close to my one of my favorite caves. The sun is going down, and as it gets darker, my skin starts to take on a blue tinge which grows into a bright glow that illuminates the passage around me.

I skid to a stop and stand at the base of the wall, head turned upwards. The entrance is well hidden, and could only be found if you knew what you were looking for. Of course, I didn't even have to look anymore. I knew exactly where it was, and just how high I had to jump. I shifted on my feet ever so slightly, bent my knees, and leapt straight up. I reached out my hands and grabbed the ivy that covered the entrance. The sudden stop sent a familiar jolt through my muscles, something that used to be one of many things that caused me pain when I first arrived, but was now so normal that it didn't even sting. My feet slid through the curtain of ivy and onto the solid floor of the cave, and the rest of my body followed in suit. My glow cast the darkness from the cave as it filled with blue light.

It was among the biggest of the secret caves that frequented the maze walls, 7 feet tall, 9 feet long and 6 feet deep. My supplies are piled in one corner; four canteens of water, foods such as apples, dried meat, nuts, canned goods, ect. I have only the most basic items for hygiene, and a few extra shirts and shorts. My medical supplies are limited to rolls of gauze, alcohol, a needle, and thread.

I striped down and soaked a rag cut from too-small shirts in water, rubbing the dirt and dust from my body. I poured a small amount of water onto my hair, wrung it out into a metal pitcher, repeated the process a few times, and spent a good 15 minutes teasing out the tangles with a small metal hairbrush, humming to myself. I redress and take a long sip of water before lying down to sleep.

I don't worry too much about water. I get two new canteens each morning, from a lift beneath the cave. Each morning, I wake to the familiar ding of the lift coming up, exit the cave, and slide a metal panel open to reveal a pile of supplies. I get food and water every day, new clothes when I need them, and a little treat like a new toothbrush every few months.

Out in the Maze, I am free. I can do as I wish, as long as I don't interfere. Don't interfere. That is my only rule. I get food from behind a silver panel with the word WICKED printed on it in thick black letters, and sleep in caves that frequent the walls, hidden behind curtains of ivy and unknown to all but me. We have a deal, WICKED and I. I don't mess with their plans, and they keep me hidden and fed. I have a feeling they will want to use me as a piece in their game later on, but for now I am content with the delicate balance between us.

That is, until Thomas.

Meanwhile in the glade:

"What is that thing?" Thomas demanded, turning away from the window to the blonde behind him.

"Grievers, we call 'em." Newt replied. "Nasty bugger, eh? But they're not the only thing that lurks in the Maze."

Thomas glanced back out the window. "What else is out there?" he asked.

"That's the thing." Newt said. "We don't bloody know what it is. No one's ever seen it up close. We call it the Phantom."

Thomas raised his eyebrows. "Like a ghost?"

Newt sighed. "I don't know, greenie, that's just what we call it. Every once in a while, a blue glow will come through this window. We know it ain't Grievers, because there's no sound, and the lights on Grievers are red, and not that bright. It's the bloody Phantom running by. Runners see its shadow turning corners out in the Maze, but they can never catch it."

"Is it dangerous?"

Newt shrugged. "Probably, but as far as we know, it's never done anything to us. We do our best to keep our distance. Who knows what might happen if we come face to face with it.Maybe nothing."

Thomas nodded in understanding, even though he was filled with curiosity. "Or maybe everything." He muttered, staring out the window into the darkness of the Maze, wondering about the blue glow that lived beyond the safety of the Glade.

**Hey people! I hope you like this little idea I've had forever and FINALLY put into words. The next chapter takes place when Thomas, Minho, and Alby get trapped in the Maze overnight. I'll try to update as soon as possible! Review! -XOXO GG**

**Question of the day: What is your favorite color?  
My answer: Blue**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello my Lovelies. How are you today? ...I just realized this may be a bit of a one-way conversation. Oh well. Anyways, I do not own Maze Runner, but I do own Ghost, because I am the Ghost King. (Review if you got that reference. If you did, you are awesome.)**

CHAPTER 2:

It's funny how a day that seems to be like any other can be the day that changes your life forever. I woke to the clang of the lift and sat up, yawning and stretching, and pushed the ivy aside. The Maze was still a bit dark, small traces of morning light just beginning to illuminate its passages. I took a deep breath of fresh morning air and retreated back into the cave to get ready for the day. I slung a belt with a leather sheath around my waist. Inside the leather sheath was a long, sharp machete and a small dagger. I wrapped my feet in strips of cloth and put on the make-shift gloves I had sewn from old clothes. I didn't really need shoes. The soles of my feet were tough and scarred from old cuts, due to lack of protection from the cracked maze floor.

I grabbed a vine and slid to the ground. Behind the ivy, a slab of gray metal slid open. Inside was a couple apples, several cans of food, two canteens of water, and a roll of gauze. After depositing the supplies in the cave, I spent the rest of the day running; following Runners, running from a Griever or two, until I came to the Cliff. What I saw their shocked me to my very core: a dead Griever.

It lay there, still as a statue on the Maze floor, just as disgusting as when it was alive. The spikes were producing from glistening green, slimy skin. Its metal arms and appendages hung limp, and the red lights were unlit.

_I wonder how long it's been here._ I wondered. I hadn't been to the Cliff in nearly a week. I approached it cautiously, muscles tense, ready to jump to the top of the wall at the first sign it showed of being alive. I heard footsteps in the distance. They were heading towards me, but were still several minutes away, judging by my calculations. The beast must have heard them, as well, because it twitched ever so slightly. The movement was so small, I almost missed it, but I didn't. I jumped so high I went above the walls, and, for a split second, I could see for miles.

Gravity took its toll, pulling me back towards the ground, but I landed with cat-like grace upon the walls. I crept up to the edge of the mammoth stone and looked down to where the Griever still lay, faking death. My brow creased in confusion. _Why is it doing that?_ Suddenly, it dawned on me, and my heart ached for the two poor souls, who were walking right into the monster's trap.

I don't know why I didn't leave right then; run away and leave the two boys to their fate. It would have made much more sense; I was powerless to do anything to save them anyway. But for some odd reason, I lay down on my stomach and waited for the boys to arrive. A small voice deep inside me said there might be a chance they could survive; realize what was happening and outrun it, but the larger, much more depressing part of me said the boys would be torn limb from limb.

A few minutes later, the boys appeared from around the corner, slowing from a run to a slow jog as the neared the Griever. They were both tall and fit; one with dark skin and dark eyes, with a frown plastered on his face; the leader of the Glade, if I'm not mistaken. The other was quite handsome, Asian, with black hair and brown eyes; a Runner I had seen before on multiple occasions, but whose name I didn't know. They exchanged glances as they approached. _Go back,_ I pleaded silently, as if trying to communicate telepathically, _it's a trap! Run!_

My pleas went unheard, obviously, and the monster sprung to life, spikes flaring and claws waving and slashing frantically. The dark-skinned leader cried out and collapsed, holding his left shoulder. The other boy backed up, preparing for the attack, but it never came. The Griever sped past him and disappeared into the Maze. The Runner watched it go before kneeling beside his fallen companion.

"Alby!" He said, shaking the boy's shoulders. "Come on, buddy! Wake up! We've got to get out of here."

But Alby was unconscious, and limp as a rag doll. The runner cursed.

"Shuck it." He muttered. He slung one of Alby's arms around his shoulders and pulled him up, grunting with the effort. "You're gonna get us both killed, you know." He chided the unresponsive leader of the Glade before beginning to walk, trying not to stumble under Alby's weight. I was honestly surprised he didn't just leave Alby and save himself. I admired him a bit more every time he stumbled but got back up, refusing to leave his friend behind, even if it cost him his own life. Which it probably would. I followed them from atop the walls, silently praying that they would make it back in time.

Once the sun started to set, I knew I didn't have long before my glow would show, so I ducked into a cave by the doors and watched with a heavy heart as the grinding of the doors closing started. I looked on through a gap in the ivy, hoping my glow wasn't visible.

"Don't do it, Tommy!" a voice called from the Glade. "Don't you bloody do it!"

But the boy, Tommy, must not have listened, and I stared in disbelief as a Glader stepped into the Maze just as the doors shut with a boom.

I stared at the new boy, shocked. This kid had just stepped out into a dangerous, hostile maze in which no one had ever survived a night, just to save his friends. I had seen Gladers get trapped overnight, sure, but never had I seen another Glader risk his life to try to help. Either this kid was incredibly brave, or incredibly stupid. Probably both.

My respect for the boy grew as he and the Runner argued; despite the odds, he refused to accept defeat.

"I'm just trying to help, man." Tommy said, traces of annoyance lacing his words. "Why don't you quit moping at every word I say and _talk_ to me?"

The Runner snapped and grabbed Tommy by his shirt. "You don't _understand_, shuck-face! You don't know anything, and you're just making it worse by trying to have hope! We're dead, you hear me? Dead!" The boy looked down at his hands, and the anger on his face gave way to shame. He let go and slowly backed away. He leaned against the wall.

"Ah, man, oh, man," The Runner moaned, burying his face in clenched fists. "I've never been this scared before, dude. Not like this."

I totally understood and sympathized with him. I remember my first night in the Maze; it had been the scariest moment of my salvageable memory. I had woken in the Maze in the middle of the day, right under the cave I store my supplies in. Imagine my surprise when the sun had gone down and my skin had started to glow, and I was attacked by Grievers. That was the closest I have ever come do dying; I still have the scars all over my body, left by the sharp spikes and claws.

My sympathy for the Runner, however, was slightly tarnished when he ran off, leaving Tommy on his own with an unconscious Alby. Noises of Grievers were getting closer by the second. I watched as he checked Alby's pulse, then grabbed both of his arms and attempted to carry him, but collapsed under the weight. He tried dragging, but gave up on that as well. Eventually, he began tying Alby on the wall, pushing him up and tying off the vines that held the boy aloft. Tommy also tied a vine around his own chest, and when he stopped climbing, he and Alby were a good thirty feet above the ground. However, they still weren't safe. Grievers could climb.

Dread filled my being as a Griever rounded the corner, heading straight towards them. It was such a shame, I thought, that someone who would not abandon his friends, no matter the cost, had to meet such a horrible fate. A tiny voice spoke up inside me. _It doesn't have to be this way. Help him._

"I can't," I muttered aloud to myself. "My agreement with WICKED will be off. I'll be a piece in their game, and I'll never be able to escape."

_It was going to happen at some point. You know that._

I returned my attention to the Gladers. The Griever was now climbing the wall, and Tommy was climbing sideways, leading the monster away from Alby. He grabbed a vine, swung, grabbed another, then repeated the action, effectively putting more and more distance between him and the Griever. He started to let himself fall a few feet before grabbing a new rope of ivy, taking him closer and closer to the ground.

But in the darkness, he could not see what I could: the corridor he was swinging along ended in a sharp right turn. Sure enough, he slammed into the wall full force, losing his grip and falling the rest of the way. I heard a groan of pain, and a pang of relief; he was alive. The Griever was quickly approaching him, replacing my relief with frustration.

_Why can't things ever just work the way you want them to?_

I snatched a vine and slid to the Maze floor, running towards the fallen Glader, hoping I reached him before the Griever did. The monster had now successfully climbed off the wall and was approaching Tommy slowly, reveling in what it thought was victory. I leapt into the air, flipping over the Griever, and grabbed the boy's arm, yanking him to his feet. He seemed dizzy and out of it, but he was conscious, and that was good enough for me. I took off with him in tow, going as fast as I could without him falling.

The more we ran, the more he began to regain balance. We had put some distance between the Griever when he stopped and starred at me. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"I'm Ghost." I replied impatiently. "And unless you want to die, you'll follow me."

"Got it. I'm Thomas." He said.

"Pleasure." I looked down the way we had just come; the Griever was turning the corner. "Now, run." I commanded, standing my ground.

Thomas looked at me in confusion. "What about you?"

"I'll be fine!" I said, not taking my eyes of the incoming Griever. It was getting closer. "Go!"

This time, he obeyed, running in the opposite direction of the Griever. My hand went to my belt, unsheathing the machete and holding it at my side in a ready stance. I intended to subdue the beast as much as possible, then run. It slashed out at me with metal arms, trying to prick me with the needles or grab me with the claws, but I hacked and sliced with my weapon, and soon multiple severed appendages lay useless at my feet.

An outcry of surprise sounded from behind me, and I turned away from my foe to see three more Grievers coming down the corridor, trapping Thomas and I. Thomas turned to face me, and his eyes widened in alarm.

"Ghost, look out!" He shouted in warning, but it was too late. One of the Griever's few remaining arms, a large metal claw, grabbed my ankle, flinging me through the air. The world spun as I was thrown behind and to the right of the monster. I hit the wall with a jarring _smack_, and crumpled in a heap to the ground, moaning as a searing pain coursed through my body, particularly where my back had collided with the stone wall.

I vaguely registered hearing a scream from Thomas, and I blinked rapidly, struggling to stay conscious. I could see my glow fading, as it always did when I was about to fall asleep. _No! Stay awake._ My vision was blurry, but I saw Thomas running dead at the Griever that had thrown me, shouting, and it going towards him. _What is he…?_ Before he collided head on with the beast, he dived to the right, and the Griever moved past him before it could stop.

Thomas staggered to his feet and rushed over to me. "Ghost! Come on, we gotta' go! Ghost!"

"Uhh." I rubbed my head, blinking dizzly. "Right."

Thomas grabbed my forearms and helped me to my feet, him doing most of the work. "I guess we're even." He mused as he pulled me along.

"Yeah," I muttered as we ran. "Even."

All of the sudden, three corridors down, two hands shot out and grabbed us, one yanking Thomas away from me, the other wrapping around my throat.

**DUN DUN DAAAA! Now, imagine Belt from The Croods saying that. I love Belt, he's so cute! Anyway, another chapter finished. Yay! REVIEW! –XOXO GG**

**Question(s) of the day: **  
**1: have you seen "The Croods"  
2: If so, who was your favorite character.  
My answers: 1) yes 2) Belt! (the sloth)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Sup lovely children! I kinda left you at a cliffhanger last chapter, didn't I? How awful of me! I hate cliffhangers, so here you go...(After over a year. Great job, me *eye roll*)  
OH, I do not own the Maze Runner, but Minho is mine so don't get any ideas *glare*  
Just kidding…Maybe…**

CHAPTER 3

I gasped for air as the hand tightened around my throat, and my hands flew to my neck, nails digging into the strong fingers, trying to pry them away. My attacker slammed me against the wall, and I cried out in pain as best I could with my air cut off. Through my blurred vision, I vaguely recognized him as the Runner from earlier.

"Minho, what are you doing?!" Thomas said, grabbing Minho's arm, trying to pull him off of me. My head spun, and a buzzing filled my ears. I swung my leg behind him, driving my heel hard into the back of his knee. Minho grunted and fell onto one knee, letting go of my throat. I sucked in deep breaths as I kicked him hard in the chest, sending him sprawling on the ground.

"Ghost!" Thomas cried.

I straddled him before he could rise. He struggled against me, trying to throw me off. I knew he was stronger than me, so it wouldn't be long until he succeeded. I reached for my belt, unsheathing the dagger in one swift motion, and pressed the blade against his throat. Minho stilled immediately, raising his hands in a surrendering motion.

"Alright," Minho said. "You win. Can you get off me now?"

I only growled at him. Minho looked at Thomas out of the corner of his eye. "She speak English?" he asked.

Thomas nodded. "Yes. Minho, this is Ghost; Ghost, Minho. Now, can you please stop trying to kill each other? We have to go; the Grievers will be here any minute." He looked at us pleadingly.

He was right, of course. I could hear them, whirs and clicks and moans; they would be upon us any minute now. I gave Minho one last death glare before slowly pulling the knife away and getting to my feet, but I still kept it in my hand, tensed in a way that said I was prepared to use it if necessary.

"Great." Thomas sighed in relief. "Let's get out of here."

"Speaking of that, follow me." Minho said. "I have an idea." With that, he took off, Thomas close at his heels. I sighed and followed reluctantly, ignoring the pain in my back and muscles and the sharp sting on my side. I spared it a brief glance, and gulped as I saw the thick red liquid soaking my shirt and shorts at an alarming rate. No time for that now. I gritted my teeth and kept running.

Minho led us through the Maze, explaining his idea as we ran. We were going to lead the Grievers to the Cliff, then stand on the very edge. Right before they reached us, we would dive in opposite directions and, the Grievers, unable to stop due to their momentum, would fall off into space, or whatever lay at the bottom of the cliff.

We reached the Cliff in the span of a few minutes; a long corridor that ended not in a wall, but in empty blackness. Our trio stopped at the very edge, so close that our heels, if moved back one inch, would no longer be touching solid ground. One misstep would send us tumbling into the black abyss.

A glance down the corridor showed the four Grievers charging in a single file line, moving impossibly fast.

"We need to be in sync!" Minho yelled over the mechanical roar. "On my mark!" The Grievers were getting closer. "Not yet…" They were dangerously close now. "Now!"

Minho and Thomas dove in opposite directions, and I leapt as high as I could into the air. Everything was going according to plan until I tried to do a flip to propel myself to land behind the beasts. A white-hot pain erupted in my side; I couldn't focus on landing on my feet like I always do, and my ankle twisted in a way it definitely wasn't supposed to. I felt as if my blood was liquid fire, spreading through my body from my side and leg. I heard a pained scream, and it took me a few moments to realize it was my own. I felt dizzy and nauseous; my vision blurred.

"Ghost!" the voice sounded far away, as if I was underwater. Hands wrapped around my wrists, and I was pulled to my feet. I groaned, trying not to put any weight on my injured foot. "Ghost, you're bleeding!" Thomas's eyes were fixed on my side. Sure enough, dark red liquid still ran in a steady stream.

"I fought…that Griever…it's c-claw…didn't think much of it." I stammered out. A fresh wave of pain coursed through my body, and I pushed back the bile in my mouth as Minho peeled my shirt up to reveal a deep gash running from the side of my ribcage to my hip. It was worse than I had initially thought.

"Definitely not a paper cut." Minho muttered under his breath. Thomas lifted one of my arms over his shoulders.

"Help me with her." he said to Minho, who looked at him as if he had gone mad.

"You want to take her back with us?" he asked incredulously. "Are you serious?"

"Very, Minho. She saved my life! The only reason she got hurt was because she was defending me from the Grievers!" He stared the Runner down. "You can't possibly mean to leave her here to die."

Minho sighed in defeat. "I don't like this." He said as he helped Thomas lift me up. I hissed in pain when weight was put on my twisted ankle. "Here. Give her to me." Minho picked me up bridal-style, trying his best to avoid putting his hands on my wound. As they started walking, Minho said to Thomas, "For the record, this is still a bad idea. Newt's gonna flip. Seriously, he might actually do a flip."

By the time we eventually neared the Glade, it was becoming extremely difficult to stay conscious. I could feel myself slipping when the sound of unfamiliar voices filled the air. One in particular stood out to me; it was the same British boy who I had heard last night.

"How the bloody hell…who is that?" I blinked drowsily. Sleep was pulling on me even harder, and I felt myself giving in. Thomas's voice reached my ears, telling me to stay awake. I waved the air weakly, as if his words were pesky gnats I could swat away.

"Can someone tell me what is bloody going on here?" The face of the British boy drifted into the side of my vision. I almost laughed. He did look like he might flip. His look of confusion and shock was the last thing I saw before the dark overwhelmed me.

**Well, that took longer than expected (No sh*t, Past GG. It's been so long since I updated, I actually had to look up how to do it). **

**Anyway, seeing as school starts in like a week or two, it'll probably be at least a few more months before Chapter Five is out, but I'll try to have Chapter Four out by New Years. Review please, it motivates me.  
Question of the day:  
Q: Who is your favorite character in the Maze Runner Trilogy?  
My Answer: Minho**


	4. Chapter 4

**Happy New Year! *Insert loud cheering and noisemaker sounds here* Yep, happy 2016, everyone! I hope y'all had a lovely Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanza, or whatever holiday you celebrated (I can't list them all, guys). Anyway, whatever you did or celebrated, I hope it was wonderful. NOTE: I did try to update on the 1****st****, but my Internet wasn't working for several days.**

**Disclaimer: I OWN EVERYTHING *NOT*. Just Ghost, actually. The song in this chapter is called **_**Sleepsong, **_**by **_**Secret Garden**_**. It's a really pretty song. I would recommend listening to it when you have trouble sleeping.**

CHAPTER 4

The next several hours were a blur. After I had passed out in the Maze, I woke a couple times while in a bed, unfamiliar faces swimming around me. The first time, I had been awake for only seconds; the pain in my side was overwhelming. Later, I started awake and tried to get up, fighting against a tall boy who told me to go back to sleep. It took three people to hold me down, and then I felt a prick in my arm and I feel again into an abyss of unconsciousness.

A groan of pain escaped my lips as I reached up to hold my throbbing head. The ground beneath me was hard and cold, and my joints were stiff. The sharp pain from my side wound had been dulled to an unpleasant soreness.

I pushed myself into a sitting position and lifted my shirt to examine the injury, which had been tightly bound in clean white gauze. My twisted ankle was also wrapped tightly. I slumped back, propping myself up on my elbows, and took in my surroundings. I was in a stone building, one room, with a heavy door and one barred window. A chair was pushed into the corner; other than that, the room was empty.

I let out a deep breath, scooting over so my back was against one of the walls, before I began to attempt to stand.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." I tensed at the familiar accented voice, and its owner's face appeared in the window. Finally, I got a good look at him. He had long blond hair that toughed his shoulders and a square jaw, and, judging by the way he leaned down slightly to look through the bars, he was also quite tall. "You pulled some of your stitches last time. Med-jacks finished puttin' new ones in ya not two hours ago."

I didn't reply, opting instead to stare at him calculatingly, showing no hints of fear or emotion on my face. I did, however, heed his advice about standing, and reclined against the cool stone wall, legs crossed at the ankles, shoulders relaxed. I took care to make myself look at ease, but not vulnerable, and maintain a calm, collected appearance, as if neither he nor my situation frightened me. Truth be told, it really didn't; I lived for two years in the Maze, facing Grievers on a day-to-day basis.

"Tommy says you're name's Ghost." He said, and again I gave no answer. "How did you get here, anyway?" No reply. This continued for several minutes, the Glader firing off various questions and getting no response. I could see him trying to keep the frustration out of his voice, and I had to fight to repress the smirk threatening to break my mask of neutrality.

Not long after, he was joined by another familiar face, Minho, the Runner. He still looked tired, and I assumed it was still the same day we had got here. Judging by the position of the sun I had seen through the window when I first woke up, it was an hour or two past noon. "How's it goin' Newt?" Minho asked his friend, who sighed slightly.

"It ain't. Bloody girl won't talk." He gestured to me with an annoyed wave of his hand. "Are we even sure she can?"

Minho turned to look at me as well, and I couldn't resist lifting my hand to wiggle my fingers at him in a small wave, the corner of my mouth twitching up despite my best efforts. The Runner narrowed his eyes.

"She can, alright." Minho replied. "I've heard her. She didn't talk to me, though; only to Thomas."

"Any chance we could get him to do it?"

Minho snorted. "Doubt it. He's already upset we locked her in the Slammer in the first place."

The Slammer. So that's what this place was. _A jail._ Not really a surprise, when I thought about it. The British boy, Newt, sighed again before walking off with Minho to a tall, rickety house visible from the window, leaving me alone.

Over the next few hours, I was left in the Slammer with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company. I was starting to feel cagey; I was so accustomed to the freedom of the Maze that being kept in a small stone room was very unpleasant. To take my mind off things, I had elected to scratch patterns into the wooden chair with my fingernails, humming softly. Soon, my humming turned to singing, and the room filled with the sound off my voice.

_Lay down your head, and I'll sing you a lullaby,_

_Back to the years of Loo Lee Li Lay,_

_And I'll sing you to sleep, and I'll sing you tomorrow,_

_Bless you with love for the road that you go._

_May you sail far, to the far fields of fortune,_

_With diamonds and pearls at your head and your feet, _

_And may you need never to banish misfortune,_

_May you find kindness in all that you meet._

_May there always be angels to watch over you,_

_To guide you each step of the way,_

_To guard you and keep you safe from all harm,_

_Loo Lee Loo Lee Li Lay_

_May you bring love, and may you bring happiness,_

_Be loved in return to the end of your days,_

_Now fall off to sleep, I'm not meaning to keep you,_

_I'll just sit for a while, and sing Loo Lee Li Lay_

Just as I was going to sing the last verse, I was interrupted by a new voice.

"You sing pretty." A boy peeked his head through the window. He was young, only twelve or thirteen, with a round face and a curly mop of hair. I was hesitant to respond, but there was something about him that was innocent, and I knew he had no other motive than to be nice.

"Thank you." I said, and he looked surprised. Clearly it had got around that I didn't speak. I half expected him to run off and tell someone, but he just continued to talk.

"No one ever sings here." He said.

"Maybe because no one knows any songs to sing." I replied, and he looked thoughtful.

"Never thought of it like that." His gaze turned curious. "Did you make that one up yourself?"

Again, I debated whether or not to give him an answer. This was getting into a more personal territory. But again, he seemed to mean no harm, and it was just a simple question. "No. I guess I've always just…known it, somehow." Then, in an attempt to change the subject, "What's you're name?"

"I'm Chuck." He replied cheerfully. "What's yours?"

I didn't know if no one had told him or he was just being polite, but I answered anyway. "Ghost."

"Ghost. That's a cool name."

I smiled ever so slightly. Another question came to mind, one I had always wanted to ask. "Chuck," I began slowly, wondering if I should actually ask. "What…what do I look like?"

If he found the question odd, he didn't show it. He studied me carefully. "Uh…you're pretty. Your skin's pretty tanned, but you probably knew that. Your hair's a bit…dirty, but if you washed it I think it'd be a goldish-blonde. You've got freckles, mostly under your eyes and on your nose. Your eyes are green."

"Are they?" I smiled slightly. I had always wanted to know that.

He nodded. "Yeah. And not light green, but like, _dark_ green. Kinda like pine trees." He paused. "Guess they didn't have mirrors in the Maze."

I tensed. Again, this conversation was going places I didn't want it to go. "No, not really." I said, while trying to think of something else to say to steer our talk in another direction. "There's another verse." I blurted out. I cleared my throat. "To the song. If you'd like to hear it."

Chuck smiled and nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, please."

I small grin passed over my face before I cleared my throat, swallowed, and took a breath through my mouth. However, just before I was about to sing, we were interrupted.

"Chuck!" A voice yelled, and I groaned internally. Not this guy, again. "What are you doing over here?"

Chuck's face disappeared from the window, and he replied, "We were just talking, Minho. What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is-" Minho cut off abruptly. "Wait, she talked to you?" Chuck must have nodded, because Minho shot off another question. "What did she say?"

"Not too much. I heard her singing while I was walking from the Blood House, and I told her she had a nice voice. She said thanks, and asked me what she looked like. Not mush else."

"Singing, huh?" The Runner's face appeared in the window. He regarded me with narrowed eyes. "What were you singing?"

I stared blankly at him, remaining silent. Minho sighed; frustrated, and then Chuck spoke up.

"Maybe that's why she don't speak to you." He muttered, and Minho turned away from me to look where the boy was presumably standing.

"Oh yeah, shank? And why's that?" he asked, sarcasm lacing his words.

"Cause whenever you talk to her, you sound like you're interrogatin' a criminal. As if she didn't _save Thomas's life_."

Minho sighed again. "I see you've been talkin' to the Greenie."

"Yep." Chuck agreed. "And he told me how she risked her butt to get him away from the Grievers. That's how she got injured; _fighting_ one."

"She also tried to kill me!"

"Yeah, after you tried to kill her." Thomas's voice interjected, and not long after, his face appeared in the window. "Hey Ghost."

**Yeah, I know, not much happening in this chapter. Ah well. Anyway, I'll try to get the next chapter out ASAP, but it might be a while as school has just started back up, and I'm drowning in work. Peace! ~GG**

**Question of the Day: What is your favorite holiday?**

**My answer: Christmas, closely followed by my birthday. (Yes, that counts.)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello lovely people. How are you guys? Good? Good. Not so good? Oh, I'm sorry. Hope you feel better soon. Anyways, this is done later than expected.**

**(Note: This has been finished for months, but I never got a chance to upload. Sorry, darlings. _) **

**Disclaimer: Oh, you know the speech. I don't own the Maze Runner, I do own Ghost, pickles are cucumbers soaked in evil. The usual.**

CHAPTER 5

Thomas looked around the room, gripping one of the bars with one hand. "Sorry about all of this." He said. He sounded genuinely apologetic.

I dismissed his words with a wave of my hand. "S fine. Not a huge fan of small spaces, though." I admitted, glancing around the room. "What time is it?"

Minho's gaze snapped back to me in surprise, glancing between Thomas and I. Thomas gave me my answer. "It's 6 o'clock. Dinnertime. Which just so happens to be why I'm here." His brown eyes went to my bound ankle. "Can you stand?"

I shrugged. "Only one way to find out." I braced one hand on the floor as I pushed myself up with my good leg until I was standing. I grimaced as weight was put on my sprain. It smarted, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. Thomas held out something wrapped in saran wrap and a bottle of water through the bars, and I limped over to take them. I unwrapped the package and bit into a ham and cheese sandwich.

"Thanks." I said, taking another bite and a drink of water. As I ate, I studied him closely. He had dark circles under his eyes, and he looked exhausted. His hands were bandaged and there was a bruise on his head, probably from when he slammed into the wall the night before. "You look terrible."

Thomas chuckled ever so slightly. Before he got the chance to respond, however, Chuck piped up, "Nah, he always looks like that. You just couldn't see it in the dark."

Thomas sent his friend a glare, in response to which the boy only laughed. "I have the distinct feeling I'm being ganged up on."

"Speaking of," I said, "Think you could convince Runner boy over there to let me out for a minute? I have to use the little girl's room."

Minho shook his head, crossing his arms. "No can do, sweetheart. You're not leaving until the Gathering tomorrow, Newt's orders."

I pushed down a sigh of annoyance. I was really starting to tire of these people's superiority complex. _I save their newbie's butt, and this is my reward. _Fine, I'll just have to work a little harder. Raising my eyebrows slightly, I stuck out my bottom lip in a mock-pout. "Aw, what a good little soldier you are; always doing exactly what you're told."

The runner grit his teeth, his posture screaming aggravation, but stayed quiet, glaring harshly at me. I sighed. Time for plan B.

"I was trying to avoid saying this," I said, looking him in the eye, "but…Lady Problems, Minho. Lady Problems."

Low, I know. But hey, desperate times call for desperate measures. Minho stared at me for a long moment, and I met his gaze evenly. Thomas sent him a pointed look and nodded to the door. The runner made a resigned noise and moved around the building to unlock the door.

"Fine." He grunted, standing in the doorway when it swung open. "Come with me. As for you shanks, get lost. Go eat some of Frypan's dinner."

Minho led me away from the Slammer and in the direction of the house. The Glade was, for the most part; empty, due to the fact that most of the Gladers were at dinner. The few who were walking around stared, pointing and whispering among themselves. I ignored them for the most part, and soon, Minho opened the door and led me into the house.

The inside was a bit dark, lit by florescent lights. The wallpaper was peeling, and a winding, twisted staircase took up the left side of the room. With a glance over his shoulder to make sure I was following him, Minho walked past the staircase and down a hallway until we'd reached the very back of the building.

"Here we are," Minho said, tapping the door. "I'll be outside."

"Thank you, dear." I said cheerfully, winking at him before I closed the door. If I hadn't had my heightened sense of hearing, I probably wouldn't have hear him mutter 'I think I liked her better when she didn't talk' after I shut the door. I stifled my laugh with my palm. Playing with him was too much fun. I'd miss it when I was back in the Maze.

_For however long that is,_ a voice whispered in the back of my mind. I sighed, gripping the sink tightly, as I felt the cold squeeze of fear in my gut for the first time in a long time. For the first time since I had arrived in the Glade, I truly considered the consequences of my actions. I had done it; the _one_ thing I was forbidden to do. I had interfered. _They'll kill me, _I thought resignedly. _The second I'm back in the Maze, away from their precious boys, they'll send all sorts of nasty things after me._

I'd have days, at most. But what were my alternatives? Stay here; let them keep me in that God-forsaken room for the rest of my life? No. No, I'd rather spend what time I have left free. I sighed and looked up, pleasantly surprised to find a slightly dusty mirror in front of me. With a small, bittersweet smile, I used my sleeve to wipe it clean, and found myself, for the first time I could remember, staring into my own face.

The girl in the mirror was tired-looking, but all right. Her hair was a bit tangled, but not too bad. Once washed, it would be a golden color, just like Chuck had said. Her nose was small and spotted with freckles, and her lips were a dark pink. My hand went to my face in wonder, settling on the skin just under my eyes. They were framed by dark lashes and were a deep, lovely green. I liked them instantly.

Finally finding the will to tear my gaze away from the mirror, I took a quick look around the bathroom. If I were going to get away, it would have to be now. The only way out, besides the door, which was out of the question, was a small window leading to the back of the building. As quietly as I could, I slid it open, relieved when it did so with little noise. Thankful again for my thin, slender build, I slipped through the opening without too much difficulty.

Underneath the window sat a big wooden box, allowing me to get down easily. A very small part of me was a bit disappointed; I'd almost been hoping for a challenge. Heck, the back of the building was just a few feet away from the wall. If I could get to one of the upper levels of the building, I could jump to the top.

Taking a step back and looking up to the third floor revealed three windows, pretty evenly spaced. I focused my hearing on that floor, closing my eyes to help block out everything else.

I winced when a rush of sound assaulted me; voices and animals and metal on metal. I shifted through it all until I found what was coming from the third floor. From the first and third, I could here conversation. Newt's accent was easy to pick out in the third, but the others, I didn't recognize. The middle room was occupied as well, but by only one person, and due to the shallow, labored breaths I could here him taking, he was most likely unconscious.

I shook the noise away and opened my eyes. My hearing went back to its normal sensitivity, which was still pretty sensitive. On the other side of the glass, I heard Minho knock on the door impatiently. _Time to go._

I leapt up and grabbed the windowsill, pulling myself up and slipping inside. I sighed in relief when the activity on the floor didn't change; they hadn't heard me. A pained gasp sounded from behind me, and I tensed, whirling around to see Alby tossing fitfully in his sleep, sweat soaking his face and neck. He gasped again, and I frowned, walking over to press the back of my hand to his forehead and the other to his neck. My eyes widened. His temperature was high, dangerously so, and his pulse was weak.

I should have gone right then; turned my back and gone back to the Maze. But I had interfered to save him and that self-sacrificing Thomas. I had quite possibly forfeited my life to help them. I couldn't allow that to go to waste. I needed to lower his temperature, and fast. I rushed over to the sink and set of cabinets on the other side of the room, digging around until I found a towel, dousing it in cold water.

Taking Alby's hand and holding it firmly to his chest to calm him, I pressed the cold towel to his forehead. He stilled, but only slightly. It wasn't even close to enough. I groaned. _Come on Ghost,_ I thought. _Think!_

And then it happened. Like drops of water seeping through a crack in a dam, letters and numbers came to my mind: GH-12, GD-04, and UD-60. I rummaged again through the shelves; the part that was filled with various bottles of liquid, most of them untouched. Sure enough, I found the ones whose labels matched the numbers in my head. I don't know how, but I knew they could help.

As I began carefully mixing them together in a glass, Alby moaned painfully.

"Alby, come on." I hissed. "If you get any louder, they'll here you, stop me, and then I won't be able to help you!"

I swirled the mixture of two of the liquids, watching as it turned from clear to pale lilac, and Alby let out another cry, louder this time. I cursed when I heard footsteps in the hall. Just as the door burst open, I had added the last bottle, darkening the solution. I was about to fill a syringe when someone shouted, "Hey, what are you doing?!"

_Damn. _I looked up to see a tall boy with dark skin standing in the doorway, and Newt was, of course, right behind him. Joy. I dipped the needle in the solution, managing to fill it just before a pair of strong hands grabbed my arms and wrenched me away.

The tall boy was already at Alby's side, checking him over. Alby moaned, and the boy grimaced. Turning back to Newt, he said, "His temperature's crazy high, his pulse is too fast, and his breathing is really shallow. If we can't get him to cool down, he's in big trouble." Newt's grip on me tightened, and I struggled against him.

"What was she making?" he asked, jerking his head in that direction. The tall boy, who I assumed must be one of their doctors, shook his head.

"No clue. She used the bottles that me and Clint don't know how to use."

"It'll work!" I spoke up, trying to yank myself from Newt's hold. All the movement was causing my side to burn again. "You need to trust me!"

"And why should we do that?" he hissed. "That stuff could kill Alby for all we know."

I rolled my eyes, despite the fact he couldn't see my face. "Ah yes, detective inspector Newt, that makes _perfect sense_. I totally threw my life out the window to save your friends, only to kill one when they're already _dying_." My voice was dripping sarcasm. "Nothing gets past you, does it?"

Newt didn't relent, so I sighed and my uninjured foot connected hard with his shin. To his credit, it didn't cause him to let me go, just loosened his grip enough I was able to wrench away. I snatched the syringe and ran to Alby's side before either of them could stop me, injecting the contents into his arm.

The room was silent as we all stared at Alby, waiting. I sighed in relief when he stilled, his breathing evening out. The tall doctor also cautiously placed his fingers to Alby's neck, taking his pulse.

He turned back to Newt with relief written on his face. "He's okay. She saved him."

**DISCLAIMER: I KNOW ABSOLUTELY NOTHING ABOUT MEDICINE. ALL MEDICAL PRACTICES IN THIS CHAPTER AND FUTURE CHAPTERS ARE COMPLETELY MADE UP BY ME. **

**Chapter 6 will be up as soon as possible, but it might be a wait. Review, pretty please with *****insert food of choice***** on top.**

**Question of the Day: What did you have for lunch?**

**My answer: Nachos **


	6. Chapter 6

**I heard the worst yet best song today on YouTube. DO NOT LISTEN IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THE DEATH CURE. That said, it's called 'Let it fly' by Gio Navas. You will be in immense pain, but it is incredible. She's very talented.**

**Disclaimer: I'm James Dashner in disguise. Shh, don't tell anyone. **

After I had saved Alby, Newt walked me back to the Slammer. He went slowly, allowing me a little time in the openness of the Glade before going back to the compressing concrete walls of the jail cell, which I appreciated. When he shut the door behind me, he gave me a sheepish look.

"Thank you," he said quietly, "For helpin' Alby, and Thomas and Minho, too. I…we really need them here."

I looked at him in surprise, "You're welcome."

Newt nodded, rubbing the back of his neck, charcoal blue eyes downcast. "Right. Well, we're having a gathering tomorrow, to figure out what to do with you. I'll be back early. Get some sleep, okay?" With that, he turned and walked back toward the house.

_Odd, _I thought as I laid out the sleeping bag he'd given me. Darkness was beginning to fall on the Glade, and I could hear the boys gathering in groups outside on the grass to sleep. My skin was starting to glow its ghostly (ha! Pun) hue, so I wrapped the nylon of the sleeping bag around my body to avoid attracting anyone's attention. Clearly they had been given orders to stay away, or else I would probably be being ogled at like a circus show.

_Have I ever even seen a circus? _I pushed the thought from my mind as I drifted off to sleep.

The water poured hard on my head and back, stinging and lifting the dirt from my skin. Hot water was heaven. I spent a few minutes scraping at my skin with a soapy cloth, trying to erase the layer of dust and grime that came with living in a maze with no shower. Several more were dedicated to my hair. I had always tried to dedicate some time and water each night to keep it as clean and manageable as possible, but it was difficult. Now, it was clear how poor of a job I had done.

When I was finally satisfied, a stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my body, covering the scars with it. My entire body, mostly my back, feet, and legs, was scattered with them. The largest was on my back, stretching from my shoulder blade to hip, but I had the most on the soles of my feet, which were entirely blanketed with tough scar tissue. I also had three stab marks that formed a triangle, two on my chest and one just above my naval, from being grabbed by a Griever's Three-bladed claw. In short, it wasn't a pretty sight.

I didn't linger too long in the mirror until I had on my clothes, a different shirt, because mine was ripped and soaked in blood, and my shorts, because none of the Gladers wore shorts small enough. I brushed my hair in the mirror with a plastic comb until I heard a knocking on the door.

"You almost done?" Newt asked. "Gathering's starting in a few minutes."

Instead of replying, I set the comb down on the sink and opened the door. Newt whistled, lacing a piece of rope between his fingers. "You clean up nicely. Ready?"

I shrugged. "Sure." It was true, mostly. The Gladers didn't scare me. However, if they decided to send me back out into the Maze…well, that would be bad, but I wasn't going to live in that stone box. I'd take my chances with certain death. But if they'd let me stay…

Newt gave me an apologetic look as he tied my hands in front of me with the rope. He gestured for me to follow him. "Right this way, Blondie."

My eyebrow arched at the nickname. Well, two could play at that game. "Lead on, Salamander."

Thomas went first. I was slightly offended to see they had left his hands free, but his angry glare upon seeing mine bound placated me, and I waved at him to indicate it was fine. Newt declared the Gathering begun, and the Keepers, who were sat in a semicircle of chairs, each suggested their recommendation. Some, like a bearded boy named Frypan, said Thomas should be praised, while others, like an acne-covered boy called Winston, recommended he be punished. Minho even wanted Thomas to replace him as the Runner's Keeper, which caused quite the commotion.

There was a rather impressive tantrum thrown by a greasy-haired, crooked-nosed Gally, in which he threatened (and got his arse kicked by) Minho and then stormed out of the room. Thomas defended his actions, short and to the point. In the end, he was given a sentence of one day in the Slammer, after which he would begin training as a Runner.

Then, it was my turn. Thomas protested heavily when he was told to leave until he had to testify, but eventually agreed. "Good luck," he whispered to me on his way out. I took his chair in front of the Keepers.

Newt cleared his throat. "Okay. Well, if this was anyone else, we'd start by going over recommendations of what to do with you, but seeing as none of us really know a bloody thing about you…" he made a strange gesture with his hand, one I took to mean I was supposed to talk.

"Um, alright." I settled more into my chair. I noticed some eyes widen, as if they had been half expecting me to play mute again. "What do you wanna know?"

"Who are you?" A boy asked, and I remembered him as the kid Newt had fussed at for saying he didn't have an opinion during Thomas' trial.

_Great question. Let me know when you figure it out, I'd love to know,_ I thought, but decided against it. _Tone it down with the sass, Ghost_. I said instead:

"My name's Ghost, or, I think it is, at least. I don't know anything about myself before the Maze. I've been here almost two years. If you've ever seen a blue light through that window at night, that's me. Phantom, right?" I slid my gaze over the boys with interest. "That's what you call me? The Phantom? It's mysterious; I like it."

"The blue glow, how is that you?" Asked a tall, dark-haired kid named Zart.

Minho, who was leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, spoke up before I could. "Her skin glows at night. I was there too, ya'know." He added when everyone looked at him funnily.

Newt looked interested. "You said you've been here almost two years?" I nodded. "We've been here just over. Big group of thirty, at first, then one per month. How did you get here, since you never came up the box?"

I shrugged. "I remember…I was falling. When I hit the ground, I started running until I passed out. When I woke up, I couldn't remember anything, not where I was, or who I was, or what I was running from. I didn't even know my name." 

That got their attention. I took a deep, calming breath as I recounted the events of my worst memory: my first night in the Maze.

_*FLASHBACK*_

_I'm falling. Not from very high, under ten feet. I hit the ground hard, groaning in pain of impact. I'm on a cliff, not far from an edge dropping off into nothingness. I get up, terror of something I can't remember turning my stomach sour. I run. Soon, I won't know what from. I'm dazed and tired, so I don't get very far before I'm falling again, banging my head on the wall and loosing consciousness. _

_When I wake, my mind is blank. I don't know whom I am, where I am. I'm so confused the word doesn't seem to cover it. I do the only thing I can do; I walk around and explore. The sun is high in the sky and getting lower. It's hot. I'm thirsty. Panic is growing, and I try to fight it down. _How can I not know who I am, _I think. _I don't know a thing about myself.

_Those kinds of thoughts don't help my lack of calm. I feel a wave of relief when I here voices up ahead. Boy's voices. I follow the sound until I can see a door. I'm about to run to it when there's a sudden, piercing pain in my head. All at once, everything is too loud. The dull din of the boys through the door has risen to a screaming in my ears, joined by heavy breathing coming from all different directions. Among it all is a metallic whirring. I fall again, this time to my knees as I claw at my ears and head, desperate for the noise to stop._

_There are footsteps getting closer, and a monotone robotic voice says: _

"You can stop it. Imagine all the sounds are like toys. You can pick them up and put them in a box, and take them out when you need them. You need to go."

_It's in my head. The voice, it's like it's coming from within me. It's not possible. However, I do what it says, because I _needs _to stop the noise. It works, too. I don't even have to try that hard, like it's second nature. Like I've done it before. I duck around a corner like the Voice tells me too, and a few seconds later, a blonde boy who looks about fourteen or fifteen runs by and into the door. A voice on the other side cries, "Newt's back, guys!"_

_The voice in my head turns chilling, deadly. "You must never interfere. If you do, you will not stand a chance of survival. Farewell, ghost, for that is who you are now."_

_The fear that instills is only amplified when the doors roar, defying the laws of physics to shut the openings. Darkness falls, and my skin begins to change, turning a strange bluish color. Before long it is glowing. _

_It's too much._

_All the events and stress and fear of the day catch up to me, assaulting my mind, drowning me in it. My terror is unlike anything I've ever felt, and unlike anything I will likely feel again. I can barely breathe, but I run, trying to escape what's in my own head. It's hopeless. I run until I collapse in a shaking, sobbing mess, screaming and tearing at my arms with my nails until they bleed. Huddled against the wall, I ride out the panic attack._

_I'm brought back to my senses by a sound like shredding stone. A creature of horror is at the end of the corridor to my left, half beast, half machine. It charges toward me with a metallic shriek, and I can here the whispers behind the walls: "Griever."_

_The next few hours until dawn are a blur. I run until my feet are soaked in blood, until my head spins, until I feel ready to kneel over and cough up my lungs. My body is _screaming _in pain, bloody and bruised everywhere, and I don't know where I got such a tolerance for pain. _My past must be full of it_, I decide. _

_I tense at the _'ding'_ sound to my right, fearing another attack, which I probably wouldn't survive, seeing as I'm about ready to pass out on the spot from exhaustion and dehydration. Not to mention the major blood loss I'll probably have soon. _

_Instead, a silver panel in the wall slid open, revealing food and water, along with bandages and supplies for stitches. I downed an entire bottle before munching on a pear while cleaning some of my worse wounds with a bottle of disinfectant, the salt from my tears stinging the scratch on my cheek._

_*END FLASHBACK*_

**ONE WEEK, guys. One week from today, I will have chapter 7 posted. I promise. I'm so sorry about the gap between chapters, really. I'm aware I'm one of those authors everyone hates. **_**I**_** hate authors like me. Anyway, I can't really make any promises for chapters 8 and beyond, but chapter 7 will be up one week from the day I post this. **

**Question of the Day: What is your favorite scent for things like candles (things you don't wear)?**

**My Answer: Mahogany &amp; Teakwood or Apple Cinnamon**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello, again, darlings. See? One week, just like I promised. I've got a working outline now that should help me more, so I promise I'll try to get up chapters more regular-like, but there still might be a few weeks wait. I hope all of my fellow Americans had a nice 4****th**** of July, and to all of you from other countries (I look at the traffic graph, you're all over) I hope your generic Monday was great.**

**Disclaimer: Come on, y'all, we've talked about this. **

There was a long silence in the room. I scanned the Keepers' faces, trying to gauge whether or not they believed me. Most seemed to, for the most part, but some still held a little doubt.

"How do we know that's the truth?" One asked, but it seemed a bit half-hearted, like he knew I was being truthful. Perhaps it was the way my voice shook slightly while talking. Some of the group tensed when I stood, but I raised my hands in a 'relax' gesture and held out my arms for them to see. Stretching along them were thin, faded scars where my nails had scratched them, obviously old.

When they were done examining them, I showed them my feet and then lifted my shirt to display my stomach and back, ignoring the twist in my gut at revealing the scars. I sat back down, lacing my bound fingers together, and Newt tapped his pencil on his notepad.

"Thank you, Ghost." Newt said. "Now, before we get Tommy in here, you all should know that, unlike usual, we only have two choices: let her stay or make her go. Keep that in mind."

"What good'll that do?" Winston asked, throwing his arms up. "She _lives _in the maze, a place we haven't been able to survive one night in until now. If she means no harm, well, that's all well and good, but if she does? There'd be nothing to keep her from coming back for us if we send her out. For us, a banishing is a death sentence. But for her? It's nothing!"

"Oh, it'll kill me." I interrupted, trying to keep my voice nonchalant to hide the waver in my confidence at the prospect of death. "Sending me back out is a definite death sentence." The Keepers turned to look at me, and I shrugged. "Don't you remember what I said about not interfering? They'll kill me if I go back out there."

"And how do you know they won't kill you here? We could be putting ourselves in danger by letting you stay."

I shook my head. "I'll be honest, I don't know what WICKED is doing with you all. Whatever it is, though, it's important to them. So much that, if eliminating me put this-" I made a swooping gesture with my hands. "In jeopardy, they won't. You're pieces in a game to WICKED. Most of you: pawns, disposable. But I have a feeling that one of you boys is the king, and their main goal is to find out who that is. You die in the Maze, on your own? You weren't strong enough. They kill you? They might have killed their own king."

The Keepers muttered among themselves. Minho was staring at me, dark eyes narrowed in curiosity. He talked to Newt without really looking away. "If you shanks are all done yappin', I'll go get Thomas so we can all go about our day."

Newt made a 'by all means' gesture towards the door and, rather than getting up, Minho shouted Thomas's name. Thomas entered immediately, clearly having been listening outside.

"All right, Tommy," Newt said. "You're up. Tell us what happened."

And he did. He described swinging from the Grievers and hitting the wall, me dragging him up and fighting the Griever. He talked about me getting thrown when I turned to look, hauling me away, Minho and I fighting. He detailed the plan and me falling and being brought back. The council then looked to Minho for confirmation, and he nodded, conceding that _'yes, he had started the fight'_ when Jeff, the Med-Jack from the previous night, asked.

"Great," Newt said, scribbling away on his notepad. "Anyone else got somethin' to say?"

"Well," Jeff said thoughtfully. "She almost got herself killed helping Thomas, and, after we locked her up, she had the opportunity to escape, but used it to save Alby instead. She clearly has some medical knowledge. I think we should let her stay. We might need her."

Newt nodded. "So, you shanks have heard the suggestions. You know what you're voting on. Stay or go?"

He went around the semicircle. Some voted 'stay' others 'go'. When it was Newt's turn, he voted for me to stay, as did Jeff. The majority bounced back and forth between the two options. Minho was the last one to vote, Gally being absent, and he turned his eyes back on me.

It was his answer I was anticipating most. He never did seem to get over me almost killing, and then later tricking him, but he had seemed fairly on my side while recounting the events of the Maze, if not saying anything negative and assenting that he _had_ started the fight could be called 'on my side'. With Gally still gone, that left ten boys, and if Minho voted I go, the results would be tied.

"Minho?" Newt prompted, and the Runner ignored him. I tried to meet his stare evenly, attempting to hide how much I really needed him to say yes. After a couple more seconds, Minho tilted his head back slightly and uncrossed his arms, not breaking eye contact.

"Stay."

"So what happened?" I was sitting at a table in Alby's room with Clint, the shorter Med-Jack. He had his black hair pulled back into a short ponytail, and he had a serious expression, but he was nice enough.

When it was decided I would be welcomed into the Glade, so it was also decided I needed a job. Rather than go through all the jobs one by one, Jeff had offered me a position as a Med-Jack, due to the medical knowledge seeping through the block in my mind. It was also suggested I be a Runner, but considering how dangerous it could be for me to go back in the Maze, I declined.

Clint shrugged, eyeing the passed out Glader across the room. "He tried to tell Thomas what he remembered from the Changing. Wigged out and started strangling himself. Newt only just managed to stop him from killing himself."

I turned to look at Alby. He'd been sleeping like the dead when Clint and I arrived, and hadn't so much as moved for the half hour we'd been here.

"What about this one?" Clint pushed another bottle forward. Open in front of him was a notebook, with a series of numbers and letters from medicine bottle labels in one column and uses in the other.

I took a good, hard look at the bottle, brow furrowed in concentration. AL-43, the label read. Running the code in my head over and over again in my mind, after a few minutes, it came to me, like a puzzle piece sliding into place.

"Blue fever," I said triumphantly, setting the vial down with the others we had figured out. Clint jotted that down.

"Blue fever?"

"Like the scarlet fever, but newer and worse."

"Ah. And this one?"

The next one he handed me, an opaque whitish liquid, was easier. "The common cold."

He wrote it down, nodding. "How 'bout this?"

I hummed under my breath, frowning. This one was tough. When it finally clicked into place, I wrinkled my nose. "What did they think you guys'd be doing up here?" I muttered, setting it in the box.

"What was it?" Clint asked, looking interested.

"You don't wanna know, trust me. Let's just hope none of you need it." I said, taking the next bottle.

That evening, Chuck and I sat at a picnic table, eating Frypan's dinner: some kind of cheesy pasta with vegetables and spices. It was easily the best thing I had ever eaten in my absent memory, considering I had spent almost 2 years my life in a giant labyrinth.

"Good?" Chuck asked with a grin as I practically inhaled the contents of my plate, clearly amused.

"Hey," I said, swallowing and waving my fork at him. "I haven't had a proper hot meal in two years. So hush." I looked him dead in the eye as I took another massive bite. He giggled.

The sun was beginning to set over the Glade, disappearing over the West Wall and painting the sky an orange that was rapidly fading to dusky blue. The doors rumbled and shook as they closed, shutting the Grievers out and the Gladers-and now me-in for the night.

"Where's Thomas?" Chuck asked, looking around. "I haven't seen him since Alby wanted to talk to him." Before I could say anything in response, Chuck called out to someone walking behind me. "Hey, Minho!"

Aforementioned Runner jogged over and sat on the edge of the table, legs swinging slightly. "You rang?"

"You know where Thomas is?" Chuck asked. "I haven't seen him since earlier."

Minho shrugged. "I dunno, shank. Last I saw him he was with Newt. How's General Alby?" The last part was directed at me.

I swallowed quickly, not really having been expecting to be talked to. Minho hadn't said a word to me after the Gathering, talking to Thomas about his plot to make him a Runner by suggesting he be Keeper. '_Aim high, hit low._' I tapped my fingers against my fork and looked up at Minho, whose brown eyes were trained expectantly on me.

"He's been sleeping since the, ah, incident." I said. "Doesn't move much, and mumbles things now and then, but he's okay. Breathing and heartbeat even, temperature good. He should be up and around in a day or so, I think."

Minho nodded thoughtfully, sinking down to sit across from Chuck and I. He looked relieved. He seemed about to say something when Chuck said, "Whoa, your skin!"

I blushed slightly at the exclamation. My skin was, indeed, beginning to glow. It wasn't all that dark yet, so it was quite faint, but still noticeably blue. I rolled my sleeves, which were currently bunched up above my elbows, down to my wrists, as if that would hide the glow of my legs and face as well. I wasn't ashamed of my glow, per se, but I got enough stares and whispers without lighting up like a Christmas tree.

"I should probably go…somewhere." I said, suddenly realizing I didn't really know where I was going to sleep. "Before I become a walking flashlight."

The corners of Minho's lips twitched down in a barely-there frown. "I think Newt set you up a room in the homestead," he said. "So you wouldn't have to sleep outside with all these stinky boys." He stood up and beckoned me to follow. "I'll show you."

I finished my last bite of pasta and bid Chuck goodnight before letting Minho lead me to the second floor of the Homestead. I again ignored the stares and whispers of the other Gladers as we walked.

"I reckon he thinks it's safer." Minho piped up, watching the Gladers with a carelessness that was still naturally observant, like he was recording it all in his head without really trying. "For you, not them."

Interested, I turned to look at him. "Think I need to be protected?" A hint of stubbornness crept into my voice. I couldn't help but feel a little taken aback. I may be the only conscious girl among fifty boys, but I had lived in the _Maze_, for God's sake. I could handle a few guys who thought they could mess with me.

"I don't. I know you can handle yourself." Minho gave me a lopsided grin. He opened the front door of the Homestead. "You did almost kill me, after all."

"Still haven't let that go, hmm?"

"Never." He led me up a flight of stairs that ended in a hallway with several doors. "Down the hall, last door on the left." He said, pointing. He grabbed the handle of the door on the right, closest to the stairs. "I'll be in here if you need something."

I nodded. "Thanks," I said, walking down the hall to where my room was located. When I reached the door, I looked over my shoulder to see Minho standing in his open doorway, watching me. "And Minho," I called. "Thanks for voting me to stay."

"No problem," he replied. "Goodnight, Ghost." He said, slipping into his room, and I did the same, collapsing on my bed, stars beginning to show in the sky through my window.

**So, I hope you enjoyed that. I'll do my best to get chapter 8 up in the next few weeks. In the mean time, wish me luck. My dad's taking me to a baseball game tonight. _ I hate sporting events, especially when they last until ONE IN THE MORNING *spitting noises*.**

**Question of the Day: What country are you from/ do you currently live in?**

**My Answer: America and America**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey hey, my lovelies. How are you all today? I just wanted to say thank you for all the awesome reviews, since I don't think I've said yet how much they absolutely make my day, especially when I'm feeling crappy. So thank you, thank you, thank you! I love all of you. **

**Also, sorry for the wait. Over half of this chapter got deleted in a computer malfunction and I was too frustrated to even open this document for two weeks. **

**Disclaimer: What if I legally changed my name to James Dashner? No? Well, whatever, I wasn't going to do that anyway. I like my name.**

Someone running down the hall woke me the next morning, banging on all the doors and shouting at people to get up. I groaned and stretched, twisting to pop my spine and shoulders. I was a little late down to breakfast, sitting with Thomas and Chuck until Newt arrived to take him to the Slammer for the day.

As it turned out, a day in the life of a Med-Jack was busier than I thought. Random Gladers drifted in and out of the third floor, which served as the medical base of operations, for various injuries. Most common, I noticed, where Builders and Slicers, both of whom dealt with sharp or heavy objects.

One who took up a particular amount of my time, a shy redheaded Slicer named Dave who quietly informed me he's been here only four months, had managed to cut his hand with a butcher's knife, nearly severing a few fingers the process. He stayed mostly silent while I stitched up his wound with steady hands, so used to stitching up my own gashes it was almost nice to be doing it to someone else for once.

I visited Thomas in the Slammer on a break midafternoon, talking through the bars for a while before heading back to the Homestead. When I opened the door to enter, I only narrowly avoided colliding head-on with someone leaving. I was about to apologize when I noticed with more than a little surprise who it was.

"Alby!" I blinked in surprise. He was standing frozen, gawking at me with a similar expression of shock. "You're not supposed to be up."

That seemed to jolt him out of his stupor. "Who the hell-" He surveyed me with narrowed eyes. "You're not the girl from the box?" It was a question and not at the same time.

I crossed my arms. "No, I'm-"

Newt's voice from a ways behind me interrupted. "Aw, hell." He jogged up; his limp was more evident when he did that. "Alby, why aren't you in bed?"

"I'm fine," Alby said testily, crossing his muscled arms. "The real question is, who the hell is she?" He jerked his head in my direction, his jaw stiff.

"I'm the girl who saved your sorry butt- twice!" I said indignantly, jabbing him in the chest with my pointer finger. Alby's nostrils flared. Newt stepped between Alby and I, arms out.

"Bloody calm down, both of ya." He said, glancing between us. "Alby, this is Ghost. She saved Thomas from a Griever that night you all got stuck in the Maze, and we stitched up the nasty cut she got from it. Then she cured your fever. You would be dead twice over without her."

Alby's angry and defensive posture ebbed slightly, but not much. Some of the anger in his face was replaced by confusion. I didn't really blame him. "This needs to start makin' some sense real soon, shank." He said to Newt, who sighed and grabbed him by the shoulder. Newt, who was close to a foot taller than me, was only a few inches taller than Alby.

"Come on, slinthead," He said, pulling Alby back inside. "I'll explain everythin'. And Ghost," Newt turned back briefly. "Stay out here. This shouldn't take long."

"I need to get back to the clinic," I said, just because. "Clint wants me back to help with our comatose guest. He doesn't appreciate tardiness."

"Then I'll write you a bloody excuse note." Newt replied with a slight eye roll, and I responded with one of my own and a snort.

"All right there, _Mom_," I hopped up to sit on the porch railing. "Settle down."

Newt laughed slightly and closed the door, and I had a brief moment of amnesiac-wondering-about-their-past-because-of-something-they-said. I pushed the thought from my mind. Straining to remember, to pull up a face or memory from the blank history only served to make one sad and frustrated, I had learned long ago. Instead I focused on the present.

If Newt had wanted to go inside to keep me from hearing what was said, well, that endeavor failed miserably. Even without my super-hearing, I could probably have heard every word of that conversation. By my best count-which was pretty good-it took fifteen minutes, Newt recounting events for a solid six minutes and Alby asking way more questions than was strictly necessary. Eventually, though, Alby backed down after Newt said that 'he was the council chair at the time, and the keepers made their decision, and if Alby didn't like that he knew exactly what he could do with his opinion'. When they emerged from the Homestead, Alby slapped Newt on the back and set off across the Glade in the direction of the Slammer.

"Ah, the sound of forgiveness among friends," I said to Newt, the heels of my swinging legs clicking against the wooden railing. The Glader hummed in reply and leaned against the wall across from me.

"I'm guessin' you heard all that?"

"Please," I chuckled. "You don't need super-hearing to hear that little chat through thin walls, even if it helps." I added that last part with a little shrug.

That remark sparked Newt's curiosity. "How far can you hear?"

I tapped my fingers thoughtfully. "It depends," I said. "On how loud the noise is and if my abilities are fully open. Most of the time I keep it dormant, but even then it's sensitive." I shrugged again. "But, for example," I grimaced when I opened the full capabilities of my hearing, reaching up with one hand to rub my head. Then I used that same hand to point at the wall opposite the Homestead.

"There's a Griever out there," I said, tilting my head to one side a bit. "I'd say…about two miles out. I can hear its spikes digging into the Maze floor."

Newt whistled, looking impressed. "Dang, Spooky."

"Haha," I huffed, rolling my eyes but admittedly grinning a bit. "Because my name's Ghost? Spooky? Yes, Newt, you're very clever." I hopped of the railing. "And as much as I would totally love to stick around to se what other _hilarious_ nicknames you can come up with, I'm already late."

Newt chuckled, and said as I walked passed him, "Want that excuse note?" I ignored him.

The first words out of Clint's mouth when I arrive at the comatose girl, Teresa's, room are, "You're late."

_Well, I guess this is my life now._

_TWO DAYS LATER_

The shouting woke me up before anything else. Usually it was either the sun or Chris, a Glader whose body seemed to run on an internal clock down to the second. He came up and down the hall each morning at 6, waking everybody up. But this morning was different.

It took me a few moments to realize that it wasn't shouting; rather, my hearing capabilities had partially activated while I slept. It happens every so often. I barely had to focus as I put it away in a box like an object, closing the lid tight. What had sounded like the yells and shouts of the entirety of the Glade populous was instead murmurings and talking. Something about the sky.

The Glade had a shortage of clocks-the Runners and Keepers each had a digital watch, and there were a couple scattered around the homestead-so I relied on the sun and shadows for time. I actually quite liked it; it brought a sense of familiarity and comfort whenever I would miss the Maze. It seemed ridiculous to miss it; it had been dangerous and painful and hard, but it was the only home I had ever known. Even though I had only been away from it a few days, the knowledge I could never go back made me a little…homesick, I guess.

But when I approached the slightly dusty glass to look for the sun, it was made instantly apparent as to what the fuss was about.

The sun was gone, leaving nothing but a grey mass in its wake. No trace of midnight indigo or the blues and purples and oranges of morning. Just cold, slate grey. I opened the windowpane and dropped to the ground, not bothered by the height. I quickly picked out two familiar voices and found Thomas and Chuck standing a ways from most of the other Gladers, who were spread around the Box entrance.

"Well, the sun has vanished." I said as I approached them, the tinge of fear squeezing my heart turning me to my natural defense: sarcasm. "The end times are upon us. It's been nice knowing you guys."

"Very funny, Ghost." Thomas said sternly, making a nearly invisible nod towards Chuck, whose eyes were wide and fearful. "The sun can't just vanish; it's not possible."

I rolled my eyes. "Puh-_lease._ You're talking to a maze-dwelling amnesiac supergirl who glows in the dark, amnesiac boy trapped in the same giant, monster-infested rat maze. Don't talk to me about 'not possible'."

Before he could respond, Chuck, whose attention had wandered back to the sky, made an observation. "It looks kinda like a big grey ceiling, don't it? Close enough you could almost touch it."

Thomas and I craned our necks to the sky. Chuck was right; it _did_ look like a ceiling, the ceiling of a gargantuan room. I got an ominous feeling in my gut, and a strange pounding in my head.

"Huh."

"Yeah," Thomas said quietly, thoughtfully. "Makes you wonder about this place. Maybe something's broken."

"Broken?" I asked, eyeing him curiously.

Thomas shrugged. He seemed oddly relaxed. "I dunno. But, the sun cannot just disappear. And there's still enough light to see by, faint as it is."

He was right, of course. My glow hadn't even been activated. It was the shadowy light of very early in the morning, even though it was almost 8 o'clock, according to Thomas's watch.

The good thing about the Glade; it was used to weird, and it had, for lack of better term, discipline. Minho came and hustled Thomas away to go running, and the Gladers dispersed to their jobs. And me, I headed back to the medfloor, after bidding goodbye to Chuck, who I promised to meet for lunch. I sat down in the chair next to Teresa's bed, jotting down what she was mumbling in her sleep, over and over:

_The Ending._

**Shorter chapter, I know. Anyway, don't think it's escaped my attention that some of you have begun shipping Ghost with certain Gladers. You can't hide from me. I SEE ALL. Not really, or I wouldn't be making this the QotD.**

**Question of the Day: Do you think Ghost should stay a single pringle or find a love interest along the way? Probably won't happen NOW but, if you do, who do you think it should be? **

**My answer: I'll let you in on a wee secret: Ghost originally had TWO love interests, but not whom you think. But then again, her name was also originally Raven (Rae), so, things can change. *wink* **


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello dearest! I hope you're well. I'm stressing about grades and have horrible time management! Yay! Anyway, I'm tired so, here you go: Chapter 9!**

**Disclaimer: Do I look like a bestselling author to you? No. (Maybe one day, if I can actually get my life together.)**

The girl woke up that evening. Chuck, being the wonderful human being that he was, had brought me dinner while I was on coma-watch duty. He sat with me while I ate, talking about whatever came to mind. Then, hurricane Teresa plowed through, destroying the quiet moment.

She jerked upright in bed, taking in huge gulps of air. Her eyes were comically wide and very blue. Chuck yelped and stumbled back, and I was so startled I dropped my plate. Luckily I was almost finished, so no harm done. Except to the plate.

"Chuck," I said softly, not taking my eyes of the girl looking around in the bed. "Go get Alby and Newt, pretty please."

Chuck nodded silently and scampered off to find the two leaders. I, meanwhile, was left with the task of calming down a terrified girl who had woken up from a coma in a strange place. I held my hands up in a calming gesture.

"Hey," I said in my most soothing voice. Teresa's panicked blue eyes zeroed in on me, apprehensive. I found myself saying to her everything I wish someone would've said to me when I first woke up in the Maze. "It's okay. You're okay. No one's going to hurt you; don't be afraid. You're going to be fine."

The fear didn't leave her face much, but she stopped shaking and her breathing became a bit more even. Progress, I decided. She pulled her knees to her chest, not looking away from me. I took a few slow steps forward to sit in the chair by her bed. Teresa tensed.

"Hey, relax," I said. "You were in a coma, you know. Might wanna take it easy. I'm Ghost. Are you Teresa?"

She nodded numbly, shoulders slumping. "How did you know that?"

"Thomas told us. He recognized you, I think. Your name was all he could remember, unfortunately." I explained. The girl's brows furrowed at Thomas's name.

"Thomas," she whispered, like she was testing the name on her tongue. Suddenly, Teresa leapt to her feet. "I need to see Thomas!"

I stood with her, startled. "Whoa, slow down. Why do you want Thomas?"

Unfortunately, it was at that moment Jeff burst into the room. Teresa got that startled-deer look again. "What's going on?" Jeff exclaimed, head snapping back and forth between Teresa and I.

"I want to see Thomas!" Teresa cried, louder, bordering on hysterical. My heart squeezed with sympathy, remembering what it felt like to be so afraid.

"No can do." Jeff said, shutting the door. "Alby an' Newt will want to talk to you."

That was not the right thing to say. I shot him a disapproving look. He was not being very helpful, not at all.

"Let me out!" Teresa demanded, her voice suddenly strong, without the shakiness it had had before. Jeff crossed his arms and wouldn't budge, so she lurched for the window. Jeff went after her as she opened the window, grabbing her arm.

She kneed him in the groin, hard. In a different situation, I definitely would've laughed. He groaned and stumbled back, doubled over in pain. I reached for Teresa as she began to slip through the window.

"Teresa, wait, please!" I said. She froze to look at me, halfway out the open window. "I know you're scared, but we're not gonna hurt you, promise."

"I just want to see Thomas," Her face was pleading, desperate. "I have to see him, he's the only thing I…the only thing I…" she made a despairing, frustrated sound, and I made a split-second decision, hoping it wouldn't backfire.

"Try the woods." I said, just loudly enough for her to hear. She looked up at me, stunned. "Don't make me regret this, Teresa." I let the threat hang, making sure she knew I meant it with every fiber of my being. "If you hurt him, or anyone else…"

Teresa shook her head forcefully. "I won't, I swear." The girl smiled gratefully. "Thank you." She climbed the rest of the way through the window, and I pretended to fall back as if she had pushed me.

Newt burst into the room a couple minutes later. He frowned at Jeff and I in confusion. "Where's the girl?"

"Gone," I said. "She was going on and on about needing to see Thomas."

"Tommy?" I nodded. "And you let her?"

"Don't blame us, Newt." Jeff said. "She was here one minute and gone the next."

On one hand, I felt bad for lying to Newt. He had taken a risk with me, and I didn't intend to make him regret. However, I also knew firsthand how Gladers could be to outsiders. Newt heaved an annoyed sigh.

"Come on then," he said, limping out the door. "Let's go find the bloody girl."

Newt, Alby, Jeff, and I, in addition to the two Baggers (Billy and Jackson, I think) Alby had brought along as backup, walked from the Homestead in the direction of the woods. The sky was the same dull grey, and I found myself missing the beautiful evenings in the Glade, the sun sliding slowly below the West Wall, shadows of dusk beginning to spread from the East, like a slinking serpent. The many hues of the open sky, blue and purple and pink and orange, even a little bit of green. The first stars peeking out like winking gems in the darkening expanse of sky. My eyes drifted to the West door, longing for the sun.

But something was very wrong.

"What time is it?" I asked, and Newt and Alby checked their watches simultaneously.

"Ah, almost 8 o'clock," Alby said. "Why?"

I said nothing and pointed at the West doors, which were standing wide open, staring into the Maze beyond. Even looking at it I felt a little tug of yearning in my chest. A quick 360 rotation revealed that, indeed, all of the doors were unclosed. The Gladers exchanged panicked looks.

"First the bloody sky, now the doors," Newt's eyes were wide. "If those things don' shut, we got no protection from the Grievers! They'll just roll right on in and end us."

"We need to find that girl, and fast." Alby picked up the pace as he stalked towards the trees. "This ain't a coincidence, her waking up the day everything in this place goes to klunk."

"What do you think about all this?" Newt kept his voice low as we walked. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eyes. His brow was furrowed and his jaw set in worry.

"I dunno, honestly." I said quietly. "This all seems to be coming out of nowhere. One moment everything's fine, the next it's all screwed to hell, like Alby said."

"Think she's responsible?"

"Who knows? Maybe it's me." I shrugged absently, thinking on what Newt said. "Or maybe it's just that time in the game."

"You always call it that," Newt frowned bemusedly. I tilted my head in a silent question. "A game," the blond boy clarified. "You always refer to the Maze, the Glade, what happens here, as a game. Why?"

His question nearly halted me in my tracks. The Glader was right; I always used that word, and that word specifically. Even before I had come to the Glade, I had lived in fear of becoming a piece in WICKED's game. _Game_. It just came so naturally. I don't even know why. I relayed this information to Newt. Before he could reply, voices drifted from up ahead. I had been so lost in thought I hadn't heard them before. Newt ran ahead as our group emerged into a clearing in the trees, where two walls met.

"How in the…" Newt looked to Teresa, who was sitting next to Thomas against the cracked, ivy-covered wall. "How'd you get here? Med-Jacks said you were there one second and buggin' gone the next."

Teresa pulled herself up from the ground and stood tall. She was not the scared girl from the Homestead. She had found confidence. "Guess he forgot to tell the little part about me kicking him in the groin and climbing out the window."

I had to bite my tongue to hold in my laughter. It was almost funny hearing her say it as actually witnessing it, with the added effect of everyone's reactions. Thomas looked like he, too, was trying not to laugh. Jeff's face was bright red, and I almost felt bad. Almost.

"Congrats, Jeff," Newt said dryly. "You're officially the first guy here to get your butt beat by a _girl_."

My eyebrows shot up and I sent him a reproachful look. _I could have you on your arse in ten seconds flat,_ I resisted saying aloud. Instead, I tried to convey it as best I could with a challenging stare. Newt rolled his eyes and mouthed _'my bad'_.

Teresa must have resented that comment as well, because she said, "Keep talking like that and you'll be next."

I had to physically silence my startled snort with my palm. _Yeah,_ I thought to myself about Teresa. _You and I'll get along just fine. _Newt shot me a look that clearly said '_see what you've done?'_

Alby, apparently, had had enough chitchat. "I'm sick of this." He stepped up and prodded Thomas's chest with an accusing glare. "I wanna know who you are, who that shank girl is, and how you guys know each other."

"Alby, I swear-"

"She came straight to you after waking up, shuck-face!"

"So what? I know her, she knows me – or at least, we used to. That doesn't mean anything! I can't _remember_ anything. Neither can she."

Alby's fury turned from Thomas to Teresa. "What did you do?" When he got no reply, he screamed, "What did you do! First the sky, now this."

To her credit, Teresa stayed calm against the hollering leader of the Glade. "I triggered something. Not on purpose, I swear it. The Ending. I don't know what it means."

"You were saying it in your sleep," I spoke up for the first time. Everyone turned to look at me. "You said it over and over again; that word. The Ending." Dread filled me to my core, and the dots started to connect in my brain, the sky, and the doors. The game was coming to a close. It was ending.

Thomas, seeing the looks on our faces, turned to Newt. "What's wrong, Newt. What happened?" 

Newt never got the chance to respond, because Alby grabbed Thomas by his shirtfront, and my hand instinctively twitched towards where my machete used to hand around my waist at the aggression. "What happened? I'll tell ya what happened, shank. Too busy makin' lovey eyes to bother lookin' around? To bother noticing what freaking _time_ it is!"

Thomas's brown eyes flicked down to his wrist, at his watch, and the blood drained from his face, looking back up in horror as Alby said, "The _walls_, you shuck. The _Doors._ They didn't close tonight."

Thomas seemed momentarily frozen in shock, until Alby released his shirt and pointed at Teresa menacingly. "I want her locked up. Now. Billy! Jackson! Put her in the Slammer, and ignore every word that comes out of her shuck mouth."

Thomas reacted immediately. "What are you talking about? Alby, you can't-" He faltered when Alby sent him a look of pure rage, and again I felt the urge to grasp the weapon I no longer had. "But, how could you possibly blame her for the walls not closing?"

Newt the Peacemaker stepped up to do his saintly duty. He pushed Alby back with a light hand on his chest, and said, "How could we not, Tommy? She bloody admitted it herself."

"Just be glad you ain't going with her, Thomas." Alby growled just before he left, and the look on Thomas's face said he might just rather go with Teresa as he watched her get pulled away by the Baggers, the Glade police. Before they left, Newt made them swear to stay with Teresa, to not let her get hurt. They did. I walked over and put a hand on Thomas's arm.

"You okay, dude?" I asked. He just shrugged; cocking his head ever so slightly as if listening to something only he could hear. His face sank, disappointed for an unknown reason. "Thomas?"

"I'll be fine," he smiled thinly, but genuinely. "Thanks, Ghost."

"I miss my machete," I said simply, thinking of Alby's temper. Thomas let out a somewhat startled chuckle.

"Might just have to get ya a new one," Newt returned from talking to Billy and Jackson. "Could use another person who knows how to use it."

"I'll be taking you up on that."

In preparation for Griever attacks, I went around to help strengthen the barricades over the doors. The boys built as high as they could reach, then I jumped to the top and secured everything, building a little higher. Newt came by, checking the barricades. He waved to me from the ground. I secured the last board and dropped to the ground.

"Hey, Salamander."

Newt didn't reply with a smart comeback, looking absorbed in thought. "Think these'll hold?" He asked, apprehensively.

"Against the Grievers? No," I said.

"That's what I thought."

There were a few moments of silence before I said, "Are you sure you guys weren't a little to harsh?"

"Oh bloody- no you too!" Newt groaned. "Tommy was buggin' enough."

"I'm serious, Newt." I snapped. "You guys have a habit of being over-suspicious of people who haven't done anything."

"She escaped the Med-Jacks and triggered this 'ending' crap. That's not nothin', Ghost."

"I almost killed Minho." I said frankly. "And broke out of jail."

"It's funny how you only bring that up when it's useful to you." Newt muttered. Then, louder. "You also saved lives, Ghost. Anyhow, relax. I promised Tommy I'd let the bloody girl go if we live to see the morrow."

"Good," I said firmly. Newt hummed and rolled his eyes. I reached up and whacked him lightly on the back of the head, mussing his hair up as much as possible in the one motion. He let out a surprised exclamation and batted my hand away indignantly.

"Whatever. Just do me a favor?" His face turned serious again. I inclined my head for him to continue. "Keep an ear out for the Grievers tonight, okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

I did. I didn't like it. "Yeah, I do." I took a little breath. "I will, I promise."

The room I was placed in to hide from the Grievers had no windows. It was in the middle of the house, downstairs, so my glow couldn't give us away. The room wasn't dark, though; it should've been, but it was cast in blue light. I thought it might annoy the Gladers with me, but they actually seemed relieved, since they weren't supposed to run the power and turn on the lights.

I sat in the back, by the door, Chuck pressed beside me. Although he was trying not to show it, I could feel him shaking. I squeezed his hand in mine.

Clint was sitting at my other side, body not wavering in his calm, but his eyes were a bit wide with barely-concealed terror. He was a Keeper; he had to keep calm for the others. I admired him.

I leaned my head back against the wall. I was listening, just like Newt asked. I could hear the Grievers tearing through the Maze. They were getting closer, but weren't on us just yet.

I hated it. Hated sitting here, hearing death come to get us, slowly, mockingly. I wanted nothing more than to get up and run, away from the Glade. But I wasn't going to leave my friends, and I made a promise. So I listened.

"Ghost," Chuck's voice was tiny, shaky, but abnormally loud due to my super-hearing. My chest squeezed.

"Yeah, Chuck?"

"Will you sing?" I looked away from the ceiling and to his face. His eyes were wide. The surrounding boys turned to look at us. Clint raised his eyebrows.

"I dunno, Chuck." I said softly, unsure. Griever's spikes rattled in my ears.

"Are they here?" Clint asked.

"No, not yet. But-"

"Go on, Ghost." Clint prompted. He rested his hand on my forearm, and I realized with a warm twist in my chest his calm was for me, too, his newest Med-Jack and newest friend. "Help lighten the mood. Just not too loud."

I chewed my lip, but nodded. I was strong. I could help people be calm too. "I only know the one."

A few boys shifted closer. I recognized Dave, the shy Slicer whose fingers I stitched up a few days past. He looked at me hopefully. I let my voice carry, not to loud, but loud enough everyone in the room could hear.

_Lay down your head, and I'll sing you a lullaby_

_Back to the years of loo lee li lay_

_And I'll sing you to sleep, and I'll sing you tomorrow _

_Bless you with love for the road that you go_

_May you sail far, to the far fields of fortune_

_With diamonds and pearls at your head and your feet_

_And may you need never to banish misfortune_

_May you find kindness in all that you meet_

_May there always be angels to watch over you_

_To guide you each step of the way_

_To guard you and keep you safe from all harm_

_Loo lee loo lee li lay_

_May you bring love and may you bring happiness _

_Be loved in return to the end of your days_

_Now fall off to sleep, I'm not meaning to keep you_

_I'll just sit for a while, and sing loo lee li lay_

I froze, cutting myself off before the last verse. The shrill shriek of spikes passed through the Glade doors.

"Ghost?" Clint asked slowly.

"They're here."

**Here it is, my home plates (inside joke, don't ask). I think this is my longest chapter yet; 3000 words WITHOUT author's notes. Anyway, I've been working on this for a while and I'm tired, so I'm going to bed. Goodnight, beautifuls!**

**Question of the Day: Are you a heavy or light sleeper?**

**My answer: Kinda heavy, though it takes me a while to actually fall asleep. **


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello loves. I hope your 2017 have been lovely so far. Mine's been going pretty well. Midterms are over; new schedule, new year. I'm feeling much better since I last updated. Also, this chapter might feel a little weird because I haven't written Ghost in a while and I think it might show, I don't know (Rhyme!).**

**Disclaimer: Pepinillos. That's Spanish for pickles. Not related to the fact that I don't own the Maze Runner, I just like pickles.**

The short version of that night? Terrifying. If there were anything I hate, having to sit and wait for death to come to me would be at the top. I'd much rather try my luck at outrunning it. At some point, I heard yelling from upstairs, Thomas, Newt, and a third voice I'd heard before but couldn't for the life of me remember whom it belonged to. Then the yelling stopped.

Everything stopped.

One moment, Grievers were coming for us at every angle and certain death was nigh. Then, there was silence. The Grievers retreated back into the Maze. It wasn't until I found Thomas I learned why.

After the monsters' retreat, chaos ruled in the Homestead. I switched off my hearing because everyone was talking over one another and crowding about, and set off to find Thomas, leaving Chuck with Clint.

Thomas and Newt were outside, by the open West Door. Newt was pressing a towel to his head. The white cloth was quickly turning red with blood. They were arguing about something. Thomas said firmly, "I'm going after him."

"After who?" I asked, and the two boys jumped. They turned to look at me.

"Minho," Thomas said after a moment. "He ran out into the maze after the Grievers."

My mouth went dry. Minho. My chest got uncomfortably tight, and my ears buzzed in disbelief of what I'd just heard. It took a moment to gather my voice. "What? And…and you let him?" I gaped.

"He wasn't in our room, we didn't let Minho do anything," Newt protested. "He's just buggin' crazy. And besides, we've got bigger problems."

"What happened to your head?" I questioned, ignoring this so-called 'bigger problem'. "Why did the Grievers just leave? They had us pinned down."

Thomas launched into a speedy but informative summary of what had happened in his and Newt's group's room, which apparently was where all the fun things happened. I blinked at him when he was done, trying to quickly wrap my mind over the information.

"So…you're telling me that Gally, the lunatic who's been missing since our trial, showed up, spouted some crazy crap about how 'only one shall die a night', whacked Newt in the head with a plank, then jumped on a Griever to his death, after which they all ran off. And now Minho has disappeared too." I concluded, and Thomas and Newt nodded, which made the blond boy scrunch his face in discomfort from shaking his injured head around. "Wow, stellar." I rubbed eyes with my fists. "Great. Well, come on Thomas."

Thomas' brow furrowed in confusion, but I swept a hand toward the Maze and he nodded. Newt glared. "Where do you shanks think you're going?"

"After Minho, obviously." I said, though I wasn't too keen to go out into the Maze again. But, it was Minho. I was going, even if I had to follow in Gally's psycho footsteps and hit Newt with a wooden plank.

I was almost surprised, wondering when exactly this change in feelings towards the dark-haired runner had occurred. He was originally one of my least favorite Gladers, but over the last few days we had developed a strange sort of bond. I considered us friends, but…it was different. Different than with Clint and Chuck, who were more like brothers, and different than Thomas and Newt. I just wasn't sure how yet.

However, going into the Maze on a daring and tedious rescue mission proved unnecessary, as Minho appeared, running down the main corridor before Newt had the chance to say "no bloody way" in his stern British Mom voice.

Thomas yelled, "What were you doing, idiot?" at the same time I swore loudly in the Keeper of the Runner's direction, and very creatively I might add. Minus the colorful language, it summed up to "What were you thinking you crazy bastard, you scared the daylights out of me, I mean, us."

Minho jogged up and bent over, hands on knees, trying to catch his breath. "I just…wanted to…make sure." He got out between breaths.

"Of what, that you died?" I clucked my tongue impatiently and crossed my arms over my chest.

"Yeah," Newt agreed. "Lotta good you'd be, taken like Gally."

Minho put his hands on his hips testily. He was still breathing rather hard. "Slim it. I just wanted to see if they went toward the Cliff. Toward the Griever hole."

"And?" Thomas asked.

"Bingo."

"I can't believe this," Newt said lowly, mostly to himself. "All of this in one night…"

"Wait, the bigger problem," I remembered, the Glader's words coming back to me now that Minho was safe. "You were about to tell us about a bigger problem. What happened, Newt?"

Newt jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "You can still see the buggin' smoke." The boy said mournfully. "Someone burned the map trunks. Every last one of 'em."

Indeed, wispy smoke was raising from the wide-open door of the squat little building the Runners mapped the Maze in. Thomas, for some reason, didn't seem too concerned about this, leaving Minho, Newt, and I to investigate. I found Clint already down there, carrying a box of medical supplies from the Homestead. Quickly I joined him in treating injuries.

From what I gathered, Winston had found Alby unconscious in the blazing Map Room, and dragged him out with a few other boys. They had tried to save the maps but it was too late. Initially they had suspected Alby to be the arsonist, but the leader of the Glade had a large gash on his forehead where the culprit had slammed his head against the table. It was nasty, filled with splinters and ash. I shoved past the crowd of boys growing around the still-unconscious leader and got to work.

Keeping a steady hand, I poured disinfectant on a cloth and cleaned out the wound, removing the splinters with tweezers. Thankfully, once it was cleaned up, it didn't look as bad and wouldn't need stitches. I settled for wrapping his head and applying a salve to a few minor burns on his arms.

"How is he?" Newt asked, standing a little off to the side, watching Alby closely. He folded the cloth on his head, trying to find a clean spot, but it was almost completely drenched in red. I made a face.

"Alby will be fine, it's not as bad as it looks," I said. "But you on the other hand really need to let us look at that."

"I'm fine," Newt insisted, and before I could argue that he certainly was not, our names were being called. It was Minho, standing with Thomas, who looked very urgent. _Oh goody, what is it this time? _I thought with a sigh. I gave my supplies back to Clint and Jeff, and Newt and I set off to follow the two Runners towards the Slammer.

"Just let her out, Newt," Thomas pleaded with the blond Glader. He was trying to convince Newt to release Teresa so they could talk about something important. I tuned out the rest of their conversation and made my way to the window.

Inside the concrete room, Teresa leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. Her bright blue eyes were focused on the door, listening to everything going on outside.

"Well, this is different," I drawled, and the dark-haired girl started, fixing her gaze on the window and relaxing when she saw it was me. "Usually I'm the one in there being ogled like a circus attraction."

Teresa let out a surprised chuckle. "You too?"

I nodded. "Yeah. I'll tell you about it sometime. It involves jailbreak." I added that last line in a singsong voice.

"Looking forward to it," Teresa smiled. Suddenly she shouted, "I'm not stupid! And I can hear every word you morons are saying!"

"I feel your pain," I said conversationally. "Don't worry, you'll learn to tune them out; that's what I did."

Teresa managed a small smirk just as the door swung open and Newt beckoned her out. I walked back around to the front of the Slammer as Teresa moved into the open, glaring at Newt and Minho and standing next to Thomas, so close their arms touched. I leant against the wall and observed silently.

"Alright," Minho said. "Talk. What's so important?"

Thomas glanced at Teresa, who shrugged one shoulder. "What? You talk—they obviously think I'm a serial killer."

"Don't worry," I muttered under my breath. "They think that about everyone. Don't gimme that look," I added as Newt sent me a '_why do you always do this?_' look. "That's exactly what happened and you know it."

"Eh, fair enough." Minho said, shifting to stand with one knee bent, arms crossed.

"Minho!"

"Anyway," Thomas said, getting us back on track. "When Teresa was first coming out of her coma, she had memories flashing through her mind. She, um, she told me later that she remembers that the Maze is a code. That maybe instead of solving it to find a way out, it's trying to send us a message."

"A code?" Minho raised his eyebrows. "How is it a code?"

"I'm not sure. You and Ghost are way more familiar with the maps and the Maze than I am. But I have a theory. That's why I was hoping the Runners could remember some of their maps, and Ghost could help correct them. You know some of the patterns, right Ghost?"

I straightened at the question, and shrugged. "Well sure. Don't know if I could _draw _them, though. Not myself, anyway."

"That'll have to work," Thomas said. Minho raised his eyebrows at Newt, who nodded. Thomas looked annoyed. "What? You guys keep acting like you have a secret."

The other Runner rubbed his eyes and took a long breath. "We hid the maps, Thomas."

Thomas looked confused, and my eyes narrowed. Hid the maps? Why? _Well, good thing they did, I guess,_ I thought. Minho elaborated: "We hid the freaking maps in the weapon's room, put dummies in their place. Because of Alby's warning, and the so called Ending your girlfriend triggered." He pointed to the Homestead as he said all this. "They're all safe and sound; every last one of those suckers. So if you have a theory, get talking."

"Take me to them," Thomas said eagerly.

"Okay, let's go."

As it turns out, the weapon's room was towards the back of the Homestead, beneath a trapdoor in a room used for storage. It was large, 30 feet and square, with a dirt floor and a single light bulb. Several tables and shelves were scattered with all kinds of weapons, from wooden poles to swords and knives to an entire wall of bows and arrows. The air was cool and smelled strongly of dust and mildew.

Minho disappeared into a dark corner, opening the door to a hidden closet and dragging out boxes. "I put each trunk's worth in it's own box, eight boxes total. They're all in there."

Thomas crouched down next to a box and pulled out a small stack of papers covered in geometric lines. "Okay," He began. "Runners have always compared these day to day, looking for a pattern to find an exit, right?" Minho nodded, looking skeptical but interested. "Okay, so, I was thinking-"

I wandered through the room, examining the different weapons, not too focused on what was being said but keeping an ear out for anything important. Thomas suggested the Maze could be spelling out words, which agitated Minho ("_Dude, do you have any idea how much we've studied these things?"_). A metal rod wrapped in barbed wire caught my attention, but it was much to heavy for my liking. I moved on to the next table.

"…Runner makes a map every day, and then compares it to Maps from previous days _for that section._ What if instead you were means to compare all eight sections to _each other_, every day? Each day being a separate clue or code?" Thomas was saying. "Did you ever compare the sections to each other?"

In the back corner, under a rickety old table, I fond a small wooden box full of machetes. _Jackpot. _I rummaged through it; looking for the one most similar to my old one I had lost that night in the Maze. My search proved fruitful, one with a slight curve to the blade and a black rubber grip on the handle. It felt comfortable in my hands, and I gave it a few test slashes.

Perfect.

"Wax paper," Thomas exclaimed from his spot on the floor, out of nowhere.

"I beg your pardon?" I asked, noticing the others were giving Thomas similar looks of bewilderment. Thomas shook his head.

"Just trust me. We need wax paper and scissors. And every pencil and black marker you can find."

The scavenger hunt began. I reluctantly relinquished my new machete to help Thomas, Teresa, and Minho raid the Homestead for writing utensils while Newt went to wrangle the wax paper from a very annoyed Frypan. It took maybe ten or fifteen minutes total before we were all in the weapons room as Thomas explained his genius plan.

"This better be good," Minho warned, but he actually seemed very interested. Thomas nodded and gave the other Runner a sharp dagger, which I found quite dangerous, inching away subtly.

"Start cutting rectangles, about the size of the maps," Thomas commanded. "Newt, Teresa, and Ghost, grab me the first ten maps or so from each section box."

Minho made a snide remark about craft time, looking at the knife Thomas handed him with disgust. I rolled my eyes and went to the closet to grab the maps, leaving the boys to their bickering. Curiously, I examined a few maps from section 4. It was remarkably well done, the lines precise and proportional. I actually recognized the area (I had grown used to all the patterns over the years). A name and day number was printed neatly on the top.

Thomas handed out black markers and set us to work, tracing the maps onto the sheets of wax paper Minho was cutting. We worked in quiet, box by box, until Newt stretched and flexed his fingers. "I've had enough. My fingers are bloody burning like a mother." He declared. "See if it's working."

We placed the first map of each section, one through eight, on the table in a row, and Thomas picked up each one and laid them on top of one another, careful to keep them in order. He seemed confident, but his fingers were shaking a little. Our group looked down at the overlapping eight sections, lines crisscrossing like mad, the letter **F **in the dead center.

Teresa gasped. "Whoa," I said, right as Minho said, "Man."

"Could be a coincidence," Teresa said. "Do more, quick."

We scrambled about, assembling the maps. Date by date, more letters appeared. Each stack of eight sections, representing one day per pile, contained a different letter in the center: **F** **L O A**** T**, nothing for a couple days, then **C A T C**** H**.

Float and catch.

"Yah, that's not a coincidence," I said decidedly.

Teresa was already walking toward the storage closet containing the other boxes. "We need to go through all of them—all those boxes in there."

"Yeah," Thomas agreed. "Let's get on it."

"We can't help," Minho interrupted, returning the glares when everyone turned to look at him. "Thomas and Ghost are coming with me. We need to get the Runners out in the Maze."

Thomas and Minho argued, but Minho was insistent. They couldn't miss a day, not now. Plus, now that the doors didn't close, they could stay out overnight and do deeper exploring. That last point caught Thomas' attention. I could see he was sold. I just didn't know what they needed _me _for.

"You're coming with us," Minho said when I asked. "We could use you out there. See if you can find something we can't."

I stared at him, stunned and momentarily incapable of speech. I hoped the look I gave him conveyed how stupid of an idea that was. From the Keeper's expression, though, I could see he wasn't convinced.

I was conflicted, to put it simply. The Maze was my home for most of my broken memory. I had loved and despised it there. Ever since joining the Glade, part of me yearned to go back to the seemingly endless corridors and freedom of the Maze. However, it wasn't safe for me there anymore. Not like I was ever safe; I was always in some form of danger, but I could always outrun it. Grievers never attacked my caves, which were my safe haven. But now, nowhere would be safe for me. I might even be putting the others in danger by being there.

"No way," I said, shaking my head strongly. "I'm not going back out there. Nuh-uh. Nope."

"No one knows the Maze better than you do, Ghost." Minho's voice had softened, sounded reassuring. Like he wasn't talking complete crazy. "Not even me. I still have no idea how you survived out there all this time."

"Caves," I admitted. "There are caves cut into the Maze walls. The Grievers leave them alone, but that was _before _I broke my deal. I have no idea now."

"_Caves_?" Minho gaped at me. I mentally slapped myself, knowing I had just reinforced his desire for me to go along. " In the _walls?_"

I sighed, knowing the battle was lost. "Alright, I'll come. But if my presence out there gets you killed don't come crying to me about it."

Minho nodded, handing me the machete I had been playing with. I sighed again and tied it to my belt. Thomas bade a (very flirty) goodbye to Teresa. I elbowed him on our way out, smirking. He was so painfully obvious, and what's more, he seemed to have honestly no idea. _Idiot, _I thought fondly.

"Ghost, do you, uh," Minho said as our trio walked around the corner of the Homestead in the direction of the doors. We had already gathered supplies from the kitchen and medfloor, ready for a deadly adventure in the Maze. "Want shoes?"

I looked down at my feet, which had indeed been bare for the duration of my time in the Glade. I honestly didn't even notice it anymore. I really didn't require shoes. "Nah," I said. "My feet are so scarred I don't need them. I never had any in the Maze."

The Asian Runner shrugged. "Alright, suit yourself. Oh, wait! Hold on, I just remembered something." Minho turned and walked back the way we had just come, around the corner and back into the Homestead. I leaned against the side of the building and twirled my weapon idly.

"Where did you learn how to use one of those?" Thomas asked, watching with curiosity. I shrugged.

"Practice," I said. "I found the one I had out in the Maze a couple months after I got here. I think a Runner dropped it."

Thomas contemplated this. "What was it like?" He questioned. "Living out there?"

"Hmm…well," I said slowly. "It was scary, and stressful. It was full of Grievers, you know. But, it was also…great. I did what I liked, as long as it didn't interfere with the Gladers. I could just run, all day, through the Maze. Once I got the patterns down, I didn't even have to think. It was…freeing."

"Do you miss it?"

"Sometimes," I admitted, pushing off the wall as I heard the front door open, indicating Minho's return.

"Ghost, wait." I turned around to look at Thomas, and he smiled bashfully. "Thank you, for saving me. I know you gave up everything."

I smiled lightly. "Yeah well, I got something new in return." Before Thomas had the chance to reply, Minho appeared around the corner of the house, stuffing a notepad in his backpack. "Lead on, your majesty." I said with an exaggerated bow. Minho rolled his eyes and led us away.

**Again, sorry if this feels a little weird. I haven't written Ghost in a while and she's changed some from what she was when she first arrived in the Glade. I'm still trying to really find her, you know?**

**Question of the Day: Do you have any New Year's resolutions?**

**My Answer: Actually, mine is to finish this fanfic and update more regularly. **


	11. Chapter 11

**Presenting for your enjoyment: Chapter 11.**

**Disclaimer: I don't make money off this (Pffffft I wish)**

The main corridor spanned out before me as I stood at the edge of the West Door. It was a little darker than I was used to at this hour, but not enough to warrant my glow. The towering walls and creeping ivy seemed to beckon me out. There was a crack in the stone that separated the borders of the Glade and the Maze. I toed the line, closer to my old home than I had been in a week. My hair shifted in the slight breeze coming from the Maze.

Behind me, Thomas and Minho were stretching, and I realized I should probably do the same, not having run in a while. Chuck wandered up to us to say goodbye.

"I'd go with you," Chuck said cheerfully. "But I don't wanna die a gruesome death."

Chuck's statement startled a laugh out of me and Thomas, who said, "Thanks for the words of encouragement."

Chuck's smiling face turned serious. "Be careful. I wish I could help you guys."

"Cross my heart," I said. "And you can help by staying here and making sure Newt doesn't wreck the place without us."

Thomas chuckled. "Yeah, what she said. Thanks Chuck, we'll definitely be careful."

Minho stretched his arms above his head. "Being careful hasn't gotten us squat," he grunted. "It's all or nothing now, baby."

Thomas glanced over his shoulder at the Maze. "We'd better get going."

Minho nodded in agreement. I adjusted my backpack anxiously. My fingers twitched, itching to stop standing around and just run. Chuck made a comment about Teresa and Thomas blushed and rolled his eyes.

"Seriously, good luck."

"Thanks buddy," I said quietly, giving him a one-armed hug. Chuck's eyes were glistening as he walked off. Thomas yelled after him:

"Don't forget my promise! I'll get you home!" He called to the younger boy, who turned around to give Thomas a thumbs up, which Thomas doubly returned. My heart squeezed a bit, and I wondered how it was possible to feel so close to these people, even though I'd only know them for about a week. Life's funny that way, I guess. Minho and Thomas secured their backpacks and the three of us set off, running into the maze.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

We ran continuously, without pause. At first, it was hard for me to keep up. Sure, I still jogged around the perimeter of the Glade every day during my free time, but I hadn't actually _ran _in a while, especially with the added weight of a backpack. However, after a little more focus on my breathing and a little adjustment, I remembered why I loved running so much.

According to Minho, we didn't really have a set destination. When we took our first break, Thomas remarked to Minho that the walls hadn't changed at all since they were out yesterday. The Keeper seemed pleased with his trainee for noticing.

Instead, we dedicated our time for trying to cover as much ground as possible, exploring every corner of Section 8. We ran every inch. After a few hours, Thomas had a rather amusing crash-and-burn moment, falling over nothing with a shocked look on his face.

He was fine, so it was ok to laugh.

We began to scour the walls and Maze floor. There were only a couple caves in Section 8, my main one and a little one near the divide between Sections 8 and 7. The boys climbed the ivy in random spots, even though I knew there was nothing there.

Eventually, we ended up in a dead-end corridor with particularly thick ivy. I'd have recognized it anywhere; it was where my main supply cave was. Where I spent most of my nights, though I did sometimes sleep in the other caves.

"It's not gonna open," I said when I saw Thomas fiddling with the silver lift panel below the cave opening, the one that had supplied me all my time in the Maze. "I doubt it's been used since I was here."

The boys looked at me with surprise and fascination. "What is it? Thomas asked, tracing the letters lightly with two fingers.

"It's a lift," I said. "Like the Box in the Glade, but smaller. It's how I got my supplies when I lived here. It only opens in the mornings though, when there's something inside for me."

Minho looked up and around. "Is this the place you lived?"

I shrugged. "Kinda. I had supply caves all over, but the one up there is my main one, yes." I stood at the base of the wall, head tilted upward and shifting on my feet. I leapt straight up and grabbed the thick of the vines obscuring the cave, swinging myself inside. Thomas and Minho gasped when I disappeared behind the ivy. I looked around the room.

It was so strange to be back here.

It had only been a week, but it felt like months. My stuff was exactly as I had left it, entirely undisturbed. Various fruits and canned foods were piled in the back right corner. A metal comb and water canteens were scattered on the floor. A few extra sets of clothes were folded against the wall, which I picked up and stowed away in my backpack, along with a few bright red apples to share with Thomas and Minho.

I turned to leave, but froze. I didn't want to leave just yet. I could feel my old life calling out to me, beckoning me to come back. But I had changed significantly in the time I'd been away.

I was no longer the Phantom, the isolated girl who ran from everything and talked to just herself way too much, the strange figment of the Glader's wonderings. I was Ghost, someone they knew. Someone they trusted. A warrior, a Medjack, a friend.

I was a Glader now.

I turned away from the cave without a second look. Thomas and Minho were waiting for me.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When it came time for the walls to close, it had gotten no darker. The only indications of time were the digital watches all Runners wore. From that point on we ran with our weapons drawn: a knife in each hand for the boys, my machete for me, in case we saw Grievers.

However, we saw almost nothing the whole night. Minho spotted the first Griever at midnight, but it turned a corner and didn't pursue us. A while later, Thomas and I spotted another one doing the same thing. At one point, a Griever blazed right past us, not even caring we were there.

Minho cut a piece of ivy from the wall later, after we had slowed to a walk. He picked off the leaves and threw it on the ground in front of us.

"I think they're playing with us." He said.

"How so?" I asked, kicking the stray ivy piece to the side.

"I think the Creators want us to know there's know way out. The walls aren't even moving anymore—it's like this has all been some stupid game and it's time to end." He paused, glancing up at the grey sky. "How much you wanna bet when we get back, we find out a Griever took one of them just like last night. Like Gally said—they're gonna just keep killing us, one by one."

Neither Thomas nor I could find anything to say in response. We were both feeling the same way after hours upon hours of pointless searching.

"Let's just go home," Minho suggested tiredly.

We were silent the whole way back.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Newt appeared to question us not long after we arrived back in the Glade. Minho was moody, Thomas looked exhausted, and I was pretty ready for a nap too. The blond limped up to us, looking hopeful.

"You're the first ones back." He said. "What happened? Tell me you have good news."

Minho did the talking, which was a mistake. He stared off into the distance and snapped, "Nothing. The Maze is a big freaking joke."

Newt looked to Thomas and I, confused. "What's he talking about?"

Thomas shrugged. "He's just discouraged. Nothing was different, and we didn't really find anything, except Ghost's old hide out. Did the Grievers come last night?"

A dark look passed over Newt's face. My chest tightened in anticipation, hoping to whatever gods existed it wasn't Chuck, or Jeff, or Clint, or Teresa.

"Yeah. They took Adam." Newt said at last.

A rush of relief filled me, which I immediately felt guilty for. What kind of twisted lives were we living, where all we do when someone dies is be glad it's not us, or one of our friends? Especially when someone in the Glade _was _now missing a friend.

Minho, who had lapsed into silence, freaked. "I'm sick of this!" His face was twisted with fury and hopelessness as he spat into the ivy. "I'm sick of it! It's over! It's all over!" He threw his backpack on the ground. "There's no exit; there never was, never will be. We're all shucked."

With that, he stormed off, leaving Thomas, Newt, and I alone. Thomas looked almost as worried as I felt. Minho was beginning to sound like Gally, and that was never a good sign. Newt walked off in a daze.

Thomas turned to me. "Ghost…are we going to be okay?"

It was a question I had no idea how to answer. "I don't know." I said honestly. I rubbed my eyes. "I think I'm gonna go find Minho."

The other Glader nodded. "I'll probably go see Teresa, find out what she learned about the Code."

"Good idea." I picked up Minho's backpack and handed it to Thomas. "Here, take this back, will you?"

"Sure thing," he said, and we went our separate ways.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The Deadheads woods must be the place Gladers go to sulk, I decided, because that's exactly were I found Minho. He was sitting in one of the sturdier branches of a tree, about 20 feet up, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed. He tensed as he heard me approaching the base of the tree.

"Don't climb up here, shuck face, or I swear I will push you." Minho called snappishly, without opening his eyes. I narrowed my eyes, walking a circle around the tree, looking for a clear shot upwards. If I couldn't climb up…

Minho jumped when the branch he was sitting on bowed under additional weight, hands snapping out to steady him. His dark eyes narrowed when they landed on me.

"Didn't I say not to climb up?"

"You did, and I didn't." I smirked triumphantly. "I didn't climb, I jumped. Ergo, you can't push me."

The runner sighed and sat back against the trunk. "I grudgingly respect your finding of loopholes." He said, moving his arms back to cross over his chest. I caught sight of his right knuckles, which were raw and bloodied.

"What did you do?"

Minho looked like he was going to make something up, but decided against it. "I punched the tree."

I sighed and reached for my backpack, which I still wore, pulling out my med bag and grabbing the Runner's hand. Minho hissed through his teeth when I dabbed the scrapes with antiseptic, clearing away a few splinters of bark, but was otherwise silent when I wrapped a strip of clean white gauze around his fingers and hand.

"You're an idiot," I said at last, pinning the gauze in place. Minho's hands were rough and calloused like mine, but bigger and warmer. My hands always seemed to run slightly cool.

"Maybe. Doesn't matter," Minho flexed his fingers under the pressure of the bandages. "We're gonna die anyway."

"You're still talking like that?"

"Well, it's true isn't it? There's no way out. There's no hope."

"Now you're beginning to sound like Gally." I chastised. "I know you're crazy, Minho, but not _that_ crazy."

The dark-haired Runner huffed a laugh, but there was no humor in it. "I'm serious, Minho. Look, you're heart's still beating," I poked him in the chest. "Which is more than a some people could say. You're not dead yet. Stop talking like you are."

Minho looked away, leaning his head back against the tree. He sighed. "Maybe you're right. But-"

"No buts," I snapped. "If you wanna give up and die, fine. But I'm not giving up. I'll stop fighting when I'm dead, and no sooner."

Finally, _finally_, Minho snapped out of it. "Okay, okay. You're right. We can't just sit around feeling sorry for ourselves."

I grinned a bit, reaching into my backpack for the apples I had grabbed from my cave. I handed one to Minho, keeping the other for myself. "Amen to that."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"'Float, Catch, Bleed, Death, Stiff, Push'?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow at the girl sitting across from me at dinner. "That's the Code?"

Teresa nodded. "Yep, that's it. We're certain."

I sighed, massaging my temples. "Brilliant. The hell does it mean?"

"We don't know." She said. Thomas, who sat next to Teresa and who had been strangely quiet, spoke up.

"Don't worry," said the boy ominously. "I'll figure it out."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

That night in the Homestead, after dinner, I ended up in a downstairs living room with Newt, Thomas, and Teresa. I sat on the floor with the latter two. Teresa was actually sleeping for a while, somehow. Not many people could actually sleep, myself included.

Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, the Grievers surrounded the Homestead. We all shrunk back as far as possible from the windows and waited for the inevitable.

Not too long later, there was an almighty crash from upstairs, the ripping of wood and the shattering of glass. The sounds of screams and footsteps chilled me to the bone, and a shrill voice cried out: "It's got Dave!"

A hallow feeling filled me as I registered this information. Dave, the Slicer. The shy boy who's hand I had stitched up on my first day as a Medjack. I hardly knew him, but it was different, having a face, a person, to match to the name of someone lost.

Thomas was rigid next to me, clenching and unclenching his fists. Suddenly, he jumped to his feet and ran for the door to the room, flinging it open and racing down the hallway.

"Tommy, get back here!" Newt yelled after him, and Teresa paled.

"Thomas!" I shouted, running after him. Newt and Teresa were right behind me, along with a few others. I made it outside just in time to see Thomas being attacked by 3 Grievers at once, standing on one of them. Teresa screamed.

Thomas fought off the Griever's flailing appendages and ran back towards us. As soon as he left their reach, the Grievers turned and fled. Thomas collapsed to the ground.

Newt reached him first, grabbing him by the shoulders. On Newt's command, I grabbed his legs and we carried him into the Homestead, dropping him on a couch in an undamaged room.

"What were you doing! How could you be so bloody stupid!" Newt yelled at the prone boy as I removed his shirt, checking his chest, arms, and legs. My chest tightened in fear as I saw he was covered in needle marks.

"No…Newt…you don't understand…" Thomas tried to say. Teresa was kneeling by his feet, looking stricken and upset. I knew how she felt.

"Shut up! Don't waste your energy!" Newt shouted. I got his attention.

"He's been stung," I said. "Dozens of times."

"Bring me the Grief Serum!" ordered Newt, but Clint was already on it, climbing the stairs yelling to the people on the third floor to bring it down. I had it in my hands in under a minute, a syringe I immediately yet carefully injected into Thomas's arm. His eyes fluttered shut, unable to stay conscious any longer.

Before he passed out, Thomas whispered: "Don't worry. I did it on purpose…"

**And fin. Ok I'm starting an updating schedule this summer my dudes. It's part of my summer project required by my parents. Only a few chapters left for this story. I think I'm gonna go for 15. **

**Question of the Day: What are you doing this summer?**

**My answer: Going to visit family, and writing and reading. **


	12. Chapter 12

**OKAY, THIS IS MY SCHEDULE: I'll upload a chapter every Tuesday and Friday until this story is done. It's my summer project mandated by my parents. Sometimes they'll be posted later at night, but I'll try to go for late afternoon/evening. Of course, depending on where you live that's relative. So just keep an eye out. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Maze Runner; I own a fish tank. Not related to this story but it's true. **

The next three days were probably some of the longest and hardest in my memory.

In all the time I had spent in the Maze, I had no one. The only person I had felt anything substantial for was myself. That all changed when I rescued Thomas from that Griever. He was the first person I ever cared about. Stupid, self-sacrificing Thomas.

Seeing him suffer was worse than going through it myself.

I'd never seen the effects of the Changing up close before. Sure, I'd heard the screams from the Maze and knew it was a nasty ordeal, but not like this.

I sat at Thomas's bedside. The boy had been strapped down at the ankles, wrists, and chest, to keep him from rolling off the bed or hurting himself. His skin was pallid, like all color had drained from his usually warm complexion. His veins seemed to bulge from his skin, sickly green and nauseating.

The worst were the screams. They turned my stomach sour to listen to. But I couldn't bring myself to leave.

The first day, Minho approached me.

"The Runners are going out into the Maze," he said. He wasn't looking all that great. He looked weary, and he cringed whenever Thomas let out a particularly loud scream. "See if we can't find a use for this code. Do you want to come with me?"

I knew what he was trying to do. Minho was giving me an out, an opportunity to get away for a while and take a break. I appreciated it greatly, because it showed he cared. But I couldn't accept.

"I'm needed here," I replied. "Medjack duty calls. But thank you. Seriously."

Both Minho and I flinched a little bit when another shriek of agony tore through the air. Minho rubbed his eyes a bit and sighed.

"You ok, Minho?" I asked. He nodded.

"Yeah," said the Runner. "It's…silly, how weird things are without him walking around, mouthing off. He hasn't been here for very long."

"You and I both know that doesn't mean klunk." I found myself occasionally using the Glader's slang, especially after spending so much time with Chuck and Minho.

Minho chuckled a bit. "Yeah." He glanced at his watch. "I gotta head out. I'll see ya, Ghost."

"Good luck out there," I said, and Minho saluted before running off.

If Minho looked weary, Newt looked like he had tiredness stamped into his bones. After the first day, the screaming became fewer and in-between. It was during one of these lulls of silence that I did a check-in on Thomas to find Newt alone in the room with him, leaning against the wall at what looked like a guilty distance.

"I told Clint I wanted to be left alone," Newt admonished, but his heart wasn't in it.

"Then kick me out," I said. As I had suspected, Newt made no further efforts to get me to leave. The tall boy watched while I checked Thomas's heartbeat and temperature.

"It's my fault," Newt eventually muttered. I looked up at him, startled.

"Huh?" 

"I'm the one who put the buggin' idea in his head." Newt crossed his arms, looking down at the floor intently. "I told him a while back that maybe we'd get a Griever to sting him, so we could get his memories. I never thought…I never thought he'd be stupid enough to do it."

I perched on the edge of Thomas's bed, having placed cooling cloths on his forehead and neck to bring down his temperature. "You think that's why he did this? To get memories back?"

"I'm certain. It's the only thing that makes sense."

I stared down at the boy who had quickly become one of my best and closest friends. He still looked awful, but his veins, though they still retained a pale greenish hue, were much less prominent. His skin had a bit of color back, but was also lightly bruising in places he'd been stung particularly badly.

"Self-sacrificing idiot," I muttered, taking his hand where it was still strapped down, running my fingers over his scraped knuckles. "This wasn't your fault, Newt. Thomas chose this of his own free will." I sighed, dropping the unconscious Glader's hand. "I just hope something useful comes of it."

Whenever nightfall came, Teresa was there to help move Thomas from the Homestead to the Slammer. Then, when morning arrived, she was there while Clint and I checked him over.

"How is he?" The dark haired girl stood in the open doorway, frowning in concern. It was a common expression to be seen on her the last couple of days.

"Well," Clint said, straightening up. "He's getting some color back and his veins aren't green anymore, but he's still pale and running a slight fever. There shouldn't be a lot of screaming. I think he'll probably be out another day, maybe two."

Teresa nodded, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. She turned then to talk to the two Gladers coming to carry Thomas back inside.

"He's gonna be ok, kid," Clint said to me, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. Clint was always so steady. "I know how protective you are of him."

"I'll be fine."

"I know you will," he said, a rare smile on his normally serious face. He waved a hand. "Go on and get those boys in here to carry Thomas."

I stepped out of the cramped Slammer into the open Glade. I waved the boys inside, and then moved to talk to Teresa.

"Hey, how're you doin'?" I asked the other girl. She sighed, running a hand through her black hair, and said nothing. "He's gonna be ok, Teresa," I said reassuringly, gripping her shoulder like Clint had mine. She turned to look at me.

"Thanks Ghost." She smiled gratefully. "I know he will. But it's still scary, you know? To see him like that."

I nodded silently. She was right. It was disturbing, to see Thomas looking so lifeless and sickly.

"Well, hopefully he'll be up soon, like Clint said," Teresa said. "Then we can kick his butt for being such an idiot."

Her comment made me laugh, and I smiled. "Good that, sister."

It was the third day when I entered Thomas's room on the third floor to find Jeff keeping watch in a chair. Chuck was also there, sitting on another bed and watching silently, shoulders slumped.

"Hey, I'll take over here," I said to Jeff. "You go get some lunch from Frypan."

Jeff thanked me, exiting the room and leaving unconscious Thomas, Chuck, and I alone. As soon as Jeff had left the vicinity, Chuck slid off the bed and rushed across the room, hugging me tightly.

"It's been three days, Ghost," the boy said shakily. "He still hasn't woken up once."

I sighed and wrapped my arms around Chuck. "Look, sweetie. He'll wake up soon. I'm sure of it." I pulled back to look at him. "Just gotta be patient, ok?"

Chuck nodded, and I ruffled his hair affectionately. "I'll help you keep watch." Chuck offered, and I didn't deny him. Really I was always glad of the youngest Glader's company.

It was late morning on the fourth day since Thomas was stung when Chuck came tearing out of the Homestead, shouting for Newt. The blond Glader approached Chuck and asked him what all the commotion was about, looking agitated. Suddenly, his face changed and he ran inside as fast as he could with his limp.

"What's all that about?" I asked, walking up to Chuck. He grinned widely.

"Ghost! Thomas is awake!" He exclaimed happily. I blinked.

"Wait, he is?" I said in disbelief, trying to process what Chuck had said. Then it hit me. _Thomas was awake. He's finally awake. _

"Yeah," said Chuck. "He was asking for Newt, saying they needed to call a Gathering as soon as possible. Before he starts forgetting what he learned in the Changing."

My breath caught. Thomas had memories. _Finally _we might be getting some answers, a use for the code and the reason behind the Maze. Maybe even a plan on how to get out of this place. My stomach fluttered with nervous excitement.

And that's how, an hour later, I ended up in the same room I had my trial in, this time in a Keeper's chair Frypan had brought out for me. I was seated in the semicircle of Keepers between Clint, who had brought me along on Newt's request, and the aforementioned cook. Before us sat Thomas, directly in front of the semicircle's middle chair.

That chair had been empty at my trial, but now Alby was there, sitting tall with Newt beside him. All the chairs were filled except two, a grim reminder that both Gally and Zart, the mild-mannered Keeper of the Gardens, had been taken by the Grievers.

"All right, Greenie," Alby said. "Forget all the beat-around-the-bush klunk. Start talking."

Thomas nodded. He looked all right I supposed, if not a little out of it. Though, that was to be expected, as he had just spent the last three days in agony.

"It's a long story," Thomas started. "We don't have time for the whole thing, so I'll just give you the gist of it. When I was in the Changing, I saw images. Hundreds of them, like a slide show on fast-forward. Only some of what came back to me is clear enough to explain; some of it has already faded or is fading." He paused briefly, taking a breath. "But I remember enough

"We're being tested. The Maze was never meant to be solved. It's a trial; they want winners—survivors. Ghost, you were right." Thomas looked directly at me, and everyone in the room glanced at me too. "You were right. It's all just a game. An experiment, for something important."

**And there it is. I know this is a shorter chapter compared to recently, but the next one will be longer. The Gathering scene is long, my dudes, and I'm still trying to figure out what to cut and keep. **

**Question of the Day:**


	13. Chapter 13

**So much exposition, y'all. I had to rewrite a lot of it, and throw stuff out so book readers aren't just reading the exact same scene over again. But I tried to keep the most important stuff for the movie watchers, because I know the book is quite different. **

**Disclaimer: I do not endorse plagiarism my dudes; the Maze Runner and its characters ain't mine.**

"What?" Newt asked after a second, saying what I think everyone in the room was thinking. Thomas rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms.

"Let me start over," said Thomas. "We were all taken when we were really little. I don't remember why, but the Creators stole us. Something really bad happened in the world. I don't know what. But it's enough the Creators felt justified in taking us. We were special, for some reason.

"I don't remember my family. Just that we spent the next while in special schools, learning until they could build the Maze. All our names are just stupid nicknames: Alby for Albert Einstein, Newt for Isaac Newton. Me, Thomas—as in Edison."

Alby looked floored, and I kind of understood. I had always known the name I had probably wasn't my real one. I mean, what kind of parent names their child Ghost? But still, hearing him say it was different. The Creators, our tormentors, gave this name to me.

_I wonder what my mom or dad would've called me._

"What are you saying?" Frypan asked. "That we're freakin' orphans raised by scientists?"

Thomas let out a small laugh that was completely devoid of humor. "Yeah. That's about right. They're studying us, analyzing our every move. They've been throwing all this crazy stuff at us: Teresa with the Ending, the grey skies, the Walls not moving. Trying to see how we react, to see if we'll give up. Who's strong enough to survive."

"Why does no one else learn this?" Alby questioned. "I've been through the Changing; all I saw was-" he cut off abruptly, backtracking. "I mean; I didn't learn nothin'."

I looked at Alby strangely. _He's hiding something, _I thought. _I know he is. _

"I'll get to that, in just a minute," Thomas sounded a little impatient. He was probably exhausted. "So, they wipe our memories clean and throw us in the Maze. A big group at first to get things going, then one a month for two whole years. Enough time to build a community, work things out. Everyone works for a solution, but there is none."

Everyone in the room began voicing their questions at once. Frypan spoke above the rest of them. "So we're never gonna escape? Is that what you're trying to tell us? That is was all for nothing?"

Thomas shook his head. "Believe me, this whole thing makes me sick," he spat. "We're being used and manipulated. They don't care if most of us die along the way. But we were always meant to escape."

The cook kicked his chair in agitation. "Well you better start talking about this magical escape then!"

"He will, Fry." Newt was focused and quiet, leaning forward in his chair, elbows on his knees. "Shut up and listen."

From the edge of the semicircle, Minho cleared his throat. He had been mostly silent for the duration of the Gathering, but was clearly paying careful attention. "Something tells me I'm not going to like what I'm about to hear," said the Runner.

"Probably not," Thomas admitted, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes fluttered shut briefly; he looked to me like he was steeling himself for what he was about to say. "They want the best of the best for whatever their plan is. The Code, it was hidden in the Maze walls for a reason." He took a breath. "I should know. I was there when the Creators did it."

Dead silence. The Keepers all seemed baffled, at a loss for what to say. Finally, Newt said: "What are you talkin' about, Tommy?"

"There's something I have to tell you guys. About me and Teresa." The nervous vibes coming off Thomas made anxiety twist in my own chest. "There's a reason why Gally accused me off all that stuff. Why everyone who goes through the Changing recognizes me.

"I swear I had no idea until now, but Teresa and I were part of the Maze trials since the beginning—against our will, I promise. We helped design the Maze. We helped create the whole thing."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Thomas looked like he had been expecting an uproar, but all he got was a disbelieving Newt.

"Tommy, you're a bloody 16 year-old kid," the blond Glader said. "How on earth would you two design the Maze?"

Thomas shook his head in vague confusion. "I'm not sure. But I know we did. That I'm certain of. Teresa and I, we're different. We have a gift, that would make us valuable to the Creators." He chewed his lip. "We…we can…"

"Spit it out!"

"We're telepathic! We can talk to each other inside our freaking _heads_!"

Newt blinked in shock, and there was another bout of silence. No one seemed to know what to say to that revelation. Thankfully, I did.

"That's pretty cool, dude." I said, and Thomas's brow furrowed.

"You…you don't think I'm a total freak?"

I chuckled. "Thomas, my skin glows in the dark like a freaking nightlight. I can jump several stories into the air, straight up." I smiled at him reassuringly. "You may be a freak, my friend, but you're not the only one."

Thomas cracked a small grin, but then turned more serious. "Listen, guys. They forced us to help them. I don't know why, maybe to see if we could gain your trust. Maybe we were meant to help you find the Code all along. But either way, we're here; we're in the same boat. We can die just as easily."

"The Creators did this to us." Newt said quietly. Then, louder. "The Creators—those shanks did this—not Tommy, not Teresa. And they'll be sorry." He addressed Thomas. "You can't help what they made you do when you were just a kid. What you do now is what matters."

There was some nodding around the circle, and Minho said, "Yeah, who gives a klunk about that. Get on with the escaping part."

The relief on Thomas's face was immense, and I realized just how terrified he was to tell us that. His shoulders relaxed, and he stopped fidgeting so much. The Keepers and I waited with baited breath, as well as a sense of dread. Whatever it was, it was almost certainly deadly. Thomas continued, rubbing his palms on his knees.

"There's a computer station, in a part of the Maze you've never been before. Punch in the code, and a door will open that leads out of the Maze. It will also shut off the Grievers so they can't follow us. _If _we live long enough to get to it."

Alby scowled. "A place we've never been before? What exactly do you think we've been up to the past _two years_?"

"Oh, you've never been here. Because it's practically suicide. But it's the only way."

Newt leaned forward in his chair, and Minho stood up. "Well?" The runner demanded. "Where is it? Enough dramatics."

"Over the Cliff," Thomas said. "We have to go through the Griever hole."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Alby leapt to his feet, causing his chair to fall to the ground. His eyes were wide and wild, bloodshot redness emphasized by the clean white bandage on his head from where it was smashed into a table a few days back.

"Now you're talking like a shuck idiot!" Alby cried. "Or a traitor! How can we trust you, huh? When you designed the Maze? We can barely take one Griever, much less a whole horde. What are you up to?"

I glared at Ably from my seat, but Clint shot me a look that clearly said, _don't say anything. _Still, I glowered at the Glade leader as if trying to knock him out with just my mind. Thomas seemed angry as well, but was doing a better job of controlling it.

"What am I _up to_?" Thomas asked incredulously. "Nothing! I want to get out of here just as much as any of you. You really think I'm trying to get you all killed?"

"Maybe," Alby said stiffly.

"Do you have memory issues? I'm the one who saved your shank butt in the Maze. You'd be dead if it wasn't for me. You think that was an act too?"

This was beginning to get eerily similar to the Gathering that had served as Thomas's trial, and mine, when Gally had accused him of being a spy from the Creators. Alby was really starting to sound like him.

"A trick to gain our trust, maybe. If you're working with the Creators, you wouldn't have to worry about the Grievers hurting you."

Thomas sighed, and this time Minho spoke. "Alby, that's got to be the dumbest thing you've ever said. Thomas was almost torn apart three nights ago. And before then, he and Ghost were almost killed by Grievers in the Maze."

"Don't even bring _her_ into this." Alby spat the pronoun like it was a bitter taste. "You never should have let her in here, Newt. She's probably in on it too. As if anyone could ever actually live in the Maze. Please."

This time, Thomas looked truly angry. I sneered. "Alby, you've really lost it this time. That blow to the head finally scramble your brains?"

Alby's face contorted angrily, and he stepped closer to me. I got to my feet, looking up and meeting his glare evenly.

"They should have left you to die in the Maze." Alby said. From closer up, I could see his eyes were a little unfocused, his voice starting to shake. _He really is loosing it_, I realized. _He's unstable_.

"I could say the same about you." I retorted.

Alby made like he was going to lunge for me, and I prepared to dodge him, but it ended up being unnecessary. The second Ably seemed like he was going at me, Minho was there, blocking the Glader's path.

"Leave her alone, Alby." Minho growled, his body rigid like he was ready for a fight. I'd never heard that tone on Minho before. Behind Alby, Thomas was half-standing as well.

"Let's everyone calm down, shall we?" Newt phrased it like a question, but it was a clear order. His hands were up, trying to diffuse the tension in the room. "Alby, take a step back," Newt said coolly, putting a hand on Alby's chest.

Clint touched my arm similarly. "Newt's right. We all need to just calm down."

I let out a breath, nodding. Alby let Newt lead him back, shoulders slumping as some of his anger dissipated. Minho stood where he was though; I couldn't see his face but I guessed he was probably still glaring at Alby.

Touching his shoulder blade lightly, I whispered: "Minho, it's ok. Just let it go."

I could feel the Runner's taunt muscles relax the second I touched his back, and his hands, which were balled into fists at his sides, unclenched. He sighed.

"Fine," Minho muttered, making his way back to his seat. I finally caught a look of his face, and was surprised to see how truly enraged he looked.

"Alby," Newt said, once everyone had composed his or herself. "This is going too far. If you need to say something, you need to say it calmly, just like everyone else."

"We can't go back." Alby said, a tremor of anger still in his voice. His eyes looked spaced out, trance-like. "I've seen what our lives were like—we can't go back!"

"Is _that _what this is about?" Newt asked rolling his eyes a bit. "Are you kidding?"

Alby's face flashed with anger again. For a split second, I was sure he was about to hit Newt; he even clenched and raised his fist. But the cloud over his eyes seemed to fade when they locked on Newt's face, and Alby dropped into his chair, burying his face in his hands. The dark-skinned boy's shoulders shook, and it took me a minute to realize what was happening.

The leader of the Glade was crying.

"Alby, talk to us," Newt pressed gently but firmly. "Tell us what's going on."

"I did it. I did it," Alby sobbed.

Newt looked confused, asking the other boy what he meant. Alby raised his head to look at the blond Glader, his cheeks damp with tears.

"I burned the maps. I slammed my own head on the table so you'd think it was someone else," Alby admitted. "I lied, I burned it all down."

I glanced around the room from face to face. They all held similar looks of shock and confusion. I would be lying if I said I wasn't feeling the same thing myself.

Minho had a completely straight face when he said: "Good thing we saved the maps then. Thanks for the tip."

Alby acted like he hadn't even heard. Newt rubbed his forehead, but other than that, he didn't seem angry at all. I guess he was right; there was no point in being angry: we had the Code, the maps were saved. Alby was clearly not in a stable state of mind.

"You shanks don't understand. We can't go back. The things I saw…" Alby shook his head fiercely, as if trying to rid himself of awful images that were probably plaguing him. "Burned land, a disease—the Flare. It's better to stay here. Better to die than go home."

Minho stared for a moment, before snickering and leaning back. "You are one butt-load of sunshine, let me tell you. No." He shook his head. "I'm with Thomas, 100 percent. If we're gonna die, let's freaking do it fighting!"

"Me too," I said, sitting up straighter. "I've had my fill of running. It's all I've ever done. I'm ready to fight."

"Stop when we're dead?" Minho was grinning a bit, mirroring my words to him when we sat in that tree together.

I nodded, smirking a bit. "Yeah." I turned to the rest of the Keepers. "Come on, guys. We've all gone too far to give up now. We've got to keep going, keep fighting."

"Inside the Maze or out of it," Thomas agreed.

"Do whatever you want," Alby said, looking defeated. "We're all going to die either way."

With that happy statement, Alby got up and walked out of the room, the door falling shut behind him. There was a short silence as everyone stared at the door, waiting to see of he'd return. He did not.

"Well he is just a delight among men, isn't he?" I muttered to Clint, who tried to look disapproving but chuckled a bit despite himself.

Newt sighed heavily. "He's never been the same since he got stung. What the bloody hell is the Flare?"

Minho waved his hand dismissively. "Who cares?" he asked. "We have to at least try to get out of here, and you shanks know it."

Frypan huffed. "Yeah, and all die. Great. Let's just everyone go hang with the Grievers at their bachelor pad!"

"It's either die making a bid for escape, or one a night cowering in the Homestead. I know which I'd choose."

"I'm going to the Griever Hole and I'm going to get out or die trying," Thomas said. "Looks like Ghost and Minho will too, and I'm sure Teresa's in. If everyone can hold the Grievers off long enough for someone to punch in the Code, we can get out of here. Face the Creators and make them pay."

Newt grinned apathetically. "And you think we can fight the Grievers, do you? Even if they don't kill us, we'll all be stung for sure."

Thomas shook his head. "They won't sting us. That variable was meant for when we were all living here. And when we try to escape, maybe only one person has to die."

"Meaning?" Newt raised his eyebrows.

"Well, the Grievers have only been taking one person a night, right? The Creators designed this to be hard, not impossible. If one person sacrifices himself, the rest of can run to the Hole." 

Winston, the Keeper of the Slicers, barked a loud laugh. "_That's _your plan? Throw some poor kid to the wolves to save the rest of our hides?"

Thomas rolled his eyes. "Yes, Winston, so glad you've been paying attention. And I think we all know who that poor kid should be."

"Oh, we do, do we?" Winston crossed his arms. "Who?"

Thomas mirrored him, crossing his as well. "Me."

**Ok that was actually kinda fun to write. Again, it's looking like this will end up being like 15 or 16 chapters, so we're approaching the home stretch people. **

**Question of the Day: what did you do today?**

**My answer: I spent all day in a car with three other people and a dog, writing this very chapter. **


	14. Chapter 14

**Hey all. Sorry I didn't upload on Tuesday, but I was in the land of no wifi or cell reception for the week. At least this one's on time.**

**Disclaimer: Do I really have to say this every time? Yes? Ok, I don't own the Maze Runner.**

"No!" I was exclaiming, before I had even registered I was speaking. "No way, Thomas."

The room had exploded into arguing the second Thomas had announced his self-righteous suicide plan. Newt cast his eyes skyward briefly, like he was praying for the strength to deal with Thomas's self-sacrificing bull crap, before very calmly grabbing the boy's arm and dragging him over to the door.

"You're leaving. Now," I heard Newt say as I approached the duo. Thomas looked stunned, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes as he asked Newt why he had to leave.

"Because you're being an idiot," I said when I reached them. Newt nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, Ghost's right. I think you've said enough for one meeting. Go wait by the box, I'll meet you when we're done." Newt gave Thomas a little shove towards the door. "We need to talk some stuff without you here."

"Listen, Newt, you gotta' convince them." Thomas said urgently, resisting Newt's efforts to get him to leave just yet. "It's the only way. It's what we're meant to do, I know it."

Newt's eyes narrowed and he leaned in close to Thomas. "Yeah, I especially loved the bit where you volunteered to get yourself killed." He said in an angry whisper.

"I'm perfectly willing to do it."

"Really? Mr. Noble himself, aren't ya?" Newt rubbed his eyes. "Ghost, get him out of here."

"I have my own reasons." Thomas said as I grabbed above his elbow and pulled him out the door. "It's my fault we're here."

Newt, who was about to close the door, froze. "Tommy," he sighed, eyes suddenly kind. "It's not your fault. You're just a kid. You can't help what they force you to do. I _meant _that."

"He's right, Thomas," I said. "Besides, whatever you did before, it doesn't make your life something you can just throw away."

Thomas smiled thinly. "Thank you both, really. I know you mean that, and I appreciate it. I just…I feel like I have to save everyone. To make up for it, you know?"

"Yeah, we know." I poked his shoulder fondly. "You've always been selfless, even before getting your memories."

Newt huffed a little laugh. "I know right. And what's funny is, I actually believe you, Tommy. There's not an ounce of a lie in your eyes. So I'm gonna go in there and convince those shanks to go through the Griever Hole, just like you said. _However_, I don't want any more of your buggin' heroic talk about dying. Good that?"

"Yeah," Thomas said. "Good that."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I didn't let go of Thomas's arm as we walked to the center of the Glade, on a concrete courtyard that surrounded the inoperable Box. Thomas sat down on a bench, and I sat down beside him.

"Did you remember anything else?" I asked after a moment of comfortable silence. "Anything…about me, maybe?"

Thomas turned to face me. He looked at me for a few moments, eyes a little narrowed, like he was wracking his brain. "There's not much," he said somberly. "I'm sorry. I just know…you were unplanned. You came from somewhere else within WICKED. They couldn't jeopardize the experiment to get you out; it was to unpredictable." He frowned. "When you entered the Maze, where were you?"

"I was on the Cliff," I said. "I think I had fallen from somewhere. That's the first thing I remember." I paused, wondering if he was going where I thought he was going with this. "You don't think…"

"The Griever Hole," Thomas confirmed. "It must be. It's the only way in besides the Box." He suddenly looked excited. "Ghost, you see? You're proof it can be done. That someone can come and go through the Griever Hole."

I didn't respond, to busy trying to process what I'd just been told. I had assumed some of it, to be honest, but hearing it confirmed was damning. No 'what ifs', no 'maybes'. That was my past.

Thomas seemed to sense my dreary mood. "I'm sorry there wasn't more. Something more concrete or personal." He patted my arm sympathetically.

"I guess it doesn't even matter, huh?" I mused aloud, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees.

"What do you mean?"

"The people we were before the Maze," I said. "They're gone. Washed away by whatever crap WICKED did to scramble our brains like eggs. All that matters about us now is here, from the time we woke up in the Maze. That's who we are, not the people from some long lost memories we'll probably never get back." I tried to keep the bitter edge from my voice. "No use dwelling on it, right? Best to just stop wondering."

Thomas sighed, sitting back. "You're right. But it's hard, not to wonder."

I nodded in agreement. "Got that right, dude. I think I'm done, though." I rubbed my eyes, exhaling heavily. "I'm done searching for a past I couldn't have back, even if I remembered it. I don't want to know."

"Do you really mean that?"

I smiled blandly. "I'm trying to mean it."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"C'mon, c'mon," I insisted, walking faster as Chuck trailed behind me, confused. We had almost reached our destination, an open, grassy area in front of the trees.

"Ghost, where are we going?" Chuck asked, glancing around. "I have to finish the water bottles-"

"I got Teresa to finish up for you," I shut down his protests and dropped the box I had been carrying on the ground. Chuck tried again to ask what was going on, but cut himself off when I kicked off the box's lid to reveal its contents.

"Pick one out," I said, and Chuck crouched down next to the box of machetes uncertainly. He looked scared to stick his hand in the box, wary of the sharp blades, so I rifled through it instead, picking out a few I thought would work for him.

I presented him with three machetes. "Which one of these feels the best?"

While Chuck lifted the machetes one by one, I tried to find one for myself. I still had my favorite one strapped to my belt, but I wanted a second one just in case. I found one that was satisfactory and tied it to the other side of my belt.

"Find one?" I asked, and Chuck nodded, handing me the one he'd picked. It was a little shorter than mine, but sharp, with a leather handle. I nodded approvingly, handing it back to him. "Ok, stand up. Show me how you hold this."

I adjusted his grip and stance, showing him how to hold the weapon. I pulled out one of mine to demonstrate.

"Okay, now, machetes aren't for stabbing. They can do that too, but they're meant for slashing and chopping." I stood next to the boy and held out my machete in front of me. "Swing it like this. No, more like…yeah, that's it. Now do it again."

Chuck hesitated, looking at the weapon in his hand apprehensively. "Ghost, am I…am I really going to need this?"

Stilling for a moment, I weighed my options. I didn't want to terrify the boy, but the truth was he would absolutely need this. We were heading for a battle most likely many people would die in. And I'll be damned if Chuck is one of them.

"I think so, Chuck." I cringed internally at the fear flashing over his face. He was trying his best to hide it, but it was obviously there. I tried to reassure him a little. "Listen, I just want you to be prepared, alright? I don't want to risk you being defenseless if we do need to fight. But I promise you, I'll do everything I can to protect you." I met his eyes to show him how serious I was. "Got it?"

Chuck smiled weakly. "Got it." He swung the machete again, this time with more power behind it. "Like this, right?"

I smiled affectionately. "Now you're getting it."

I ran Chuck through the basics of using a machete, little moves and tricks I had learned through experience over the years.

"Block with the flat of the blade," I said, showing him how to quickly turn the weapon with a flick of his wrist. "There, just like that. You're a natural."

"Ghost," he whispered. "People are watching us."

He was right. There was a small group of Gladers standing off to the side, watching as I taught.

"Ignore them," I said, raising my eyebrow at the group of boys. One of them, a boy with short brown hair and a pointed face walked over to me, indicating at the box of machetes.

"May I?" the boy asked, and once I got over my initial surprise, nodded.

"Be my guest," I said, and the boy crouched down and shifted through the weapons, picking one out. He held it out to me for approval.

"It'll need to be sharpened." I pressed the pads of my fingers lightly to the blade, finding it dull, but that could be remedied. Shifting the blade in my hands, I swung it in a wide arc. The boy jumped a bit at the sudden movement. "But it's good. Just make sure you sharpen it."

The boy nodded. "Thanks. I'm Jack, by the way."

Jack was the first of several Gladers to come pick up a machete. While many of them had at least the basis to use one (Gladers jobs often necessitated the use of knives or axes or hammers), others, like Sloppers or Gardeners, had little idea how to use a weapon.

"Now, with a machete, you've got to be quick," I coached. "You're close to your opponent, so you've gotta know how to dodge. Grievers have a lot of appendages. Go for them. It doesn't take very much to cut them off."

Newt passed by, and after he got over his bewilderment, flashed me a thumbs up before walking off. Alby, who had been right behind him, waved me over. I joined him, though hesitantly.

"Preparin' for battle?" the Glader asked. I crossed my arms defensively. 

"There'll be one. And if not this time, than the next." I looked over at Chuck, who was running through what I had taught him with Jack and another kid. "They need to be prepared, as much as possible with our little time."

To my surprise, Alby nodded. "Good that." He fell silent for a moment, like he was preparing himself for something painful. "And Ghost…I'm…sorry."

I blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm sorry, ok?" Alby repeated, crossing his arms and looking for all the world he'd rather be anywhere else. "I was…out of line at the Gathering earlier. I shouldn't have said that."

I stared at him for a bit, trying to wrap my brain around this. Alby: the Glade leader, proud, stubborn, and honestly a bit of a douche, was apologizing. _Newt's gotta have something to do with this, _I mused silently. _He really mellows Alby out._

"Was that difficult for you?" I asked, and Alby bristled. "I'm kidding. Thanks, and I'm sorry too, I guess." I looked at the boy again, and risked asking: "So, you coming with us or staying here?"

The dark-skinned boy sighed. "I'm coming along. God even knows why, but I am."

_Wow, _I thought. _Newt really is a worker of miracles. _Instead of saying that, however, I merely nodded.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Frypan made dinner at regular door-closing time. Weapons had been passed out. Packs filled to the brim with supplies had been made and distributed. All that was left to do now was to wait for nightfall.

There was a foreboding air hanging over the Glade as we ate. I sat with Thomas and Chuck, just like old times. I picked at my food, not all that hungry, stomach too twisted in anticipation and yes, fear. Chuck, however, ate heartily.

"So…Thomas," the boy began through a bite of mashed potatoes. "Who do you think I'm named after?"

Thomas shook his head and I snickered a bit. We were about to make our bid to escape, facing almost certain doom as we did, and Chuck was worried about his name of all things.

"I dunno, Darwin, maybe?" Thomas said, taking a bite of food. "The dude who figured out evolution."

"I bet no one's ever called him a dude before," Chuck mused. He took another large bite and continued to talk, even with his mouth full. "You know, I'm not really that scared. I mean sitting in the Homestead the last few nights, just waiting for the Grievers to come steal one of us, was one of the worst things I've ever done. At least now we're taking it to them, trying _something. _At least…"

Chuck trailed off, and I couldn't have agreed more. Yes, it was quite possible that, in a few hours, I would be dead. And yeah, it scared the crap out of me, but at least we were fighting, taking a stand. So I squashed my fears down.

"At least what?" Thomas asked, looking dubious. Chuck sighed.

"Well, everyone's speculating that the Grievers can only kill one of us. Maybe it makes me sound like a shuck, but it gives me some hope. That maybe most of us will get out alive."

Thomas bit his lip. "Maybe we can all make it. As long as everyone fights," he said, but I could see the truth in his eyes. He didn't believe that one bit. And neither did I. But I didn't say that, not in front of Chuck.

Chuck seemed to know, though, looking at Thomas carefully. "You really think that? Or are you just trying to make me feel better?"

"No fooling you, huh?" I muttered. Thomas didn't appear to want to answer, so I did it for him. "Hey. We can do it, ok? Get me?"

"Yes ma'am," Chuck said too lightly, saluting half-heartedly. I ruffled his hair with a little grin.

"Smartass." I grumbled, though fondly.

Thomas chuckled a bit, but turned more serious, pointing his fork at Chuck. "Don't forget my promise," he asserted. "You can still count on it."

Chuck frowned. "Big deal—I hear the world's in klunky shape."

"Yeah, maybe so," Thomas conceded. "But hey, we'll find the people who care about us—you'll see."

Chuck pushed his empty plate away from him and stood up. "Well, I don't wanna think about it. Just get me out of here, and I'll be one happy dude."

"Good that," Thomas said, and Chuck turned to walk away but I caught his arm.

"Hey Chuck?" I said, and he turned to look at me. "No matter what we find in the world, you never have to look far to find people who care about you. Okay?"

The boy stared back at me, at me and Thomas gazing at him pleadingly, willing him to understand. After a few moments, he huffed a shaky laugh and threw his arms around me, hugging me tightly. I hugged him back like I was trying to shield him from everything. Like I'd never let anything hurt him.

So why did it feel like the last time?

**I hurt myself with this. You all know what's coming and I'ma cry while writing it, so might as well bring y'all down with me.**

**Question of the Day: What's the last song you listened to?**

**My answer: "Diablo" by Simon Curtis (as I write this lol)**


	15. Chapter 15

**I'm tired and it's late so here you go. Disclaimer, I don't own the Maze Runner. I own Ghost and Danny, because they are both of my own creation. **

**WARNING: This chapter is moderately GRAPHIC. Warnings for: violence and death. If this will upset you, please proceed with caution. **

Just after dinner, Newt and Alby were gathering the Gladers, saying it was time to get going. Thomas, Chuck, and I snatched our packs from the ground. My two machetes were tied to my belt. We wasted no time finding Minho and Teresa, who were standing by the West Door going over the plan.

"You shanks ready for this?" Minho asked when we arrived. "Thomas, this is your idea, so it better work. If not, I'll kill ya before the shuck Grievers."

From anyone else, a comment like that towards Thomas would set me on edge. But from Minho, I knew it was in good humor. Well, maybe not _good _humor, that wasn't exactly Minho's specialty, but humor nonetheless.

"Thanks," Thomas said sarcastically. He turned to Teresa, who was shifting nervously, looking concerned. "You okay?" he asked genuinely. It was honestly sweet he didn't realize the way he looked at her. And pathetic.

"I'm fine," she said with a thin smile, an obvious lie. "Just anxious to get it over with."

"Amen to that, sister," Minho said. If I looked closely enough, I could see the fear in his eyes he hid with an almost absurd calm confidence. I reached into my backpack for two pieces of cord I had cut earlier that day.

"C'mere Teresa," I said, waving the other girl closer. She obliged, and I tied her beautiful long black hair up into a firm ponytail. Once finished, I did the same to mine.

"Think you should do the same to Newt?" Minho asked with a smirk. I snorted, socking him lightly on the arm. He smiled. Newt, who had finished rounding everyone up, called for silence and began to speak.

"There's forty-two of us. Make sure you've got your weapons." The blond Glader hoisted his backpack up onto his shoulders. "Other than that, there's not a whole lot to buggin' say. You all know the plan."

I glanced over at Thomas to see he wasn't focused on Newt at all. Instead, he was staring warily at Alby, who stood off to the side. He was holding a bow in his hand, a quiver of arrows slung across his back. He was going, but clearly unhappy about it, if his sulking posture was anything to go by. Not to mention all his previous tantrums.

"Shouldn't someone give a pep talk or something?" Minho asked.

"Go ahead," Newt answered, gesturing for the Keeper of the Runners to continue.

_Oh, here we go._

"Be careful," Minho said dryly. "And don't die."

"That went about as well as could be expected," I muttered under my breath to Chuck, who managed a little laugh. Newt rolled his eyes, looking similarly unimpressed.

"Great. We're all bloody inspired." Newt shook his head a little, and pointed a thumb over his shoulder towards the entrance to the Maze. "After two years of being treated like mice, tonight we're taking a stand. Tonight, we're taking the fight back to the Creators, no matter what we have to get through to get there. Tonight the Grievers better be scared."

I nudged Minho lightly with my shoulder. "See, that's a pep talk." I whispered teasingly. He rolled his eyes. The Gladers cheered, and we joined them, battle cry echoing off the walls and through the Glade like roaring thunder. With that, our little Glader army delved into the Maze.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

We were being watched. The red lights of the beetle blades were all over the ivy of the walls as we ran the Maze. We hadn't been running for long when Newt tapped Minho and I on the shoulder.

"Minho and Ghost, you two take the lead," the Glader ordered. "Get us to the cliff."

"Yes boss," I said with a nod, and Minho saluted. The two of us headed up the procession of Gladers, running side by side as we led them through the twists and turns of the Maze. If I had the ability to focus on anything but the impending fight, possibly bloodbath, I would have wondered at how right it felt to run with Minho. It almost felt like we weren't facing certain death in the Maze at all.

We had almost reached the corridor of the cliff when I heard them. Grievers, however, it was like they were trying to be quiet. Without my sensitive hearing I probably never would have heard them at all. Dread pooled in my stomach.

"I can hear them," I whispered to Minho between breaths. "They're trying to be quiet. Like they're hiding."

Minho's face flashed with the same dread I was feeling. "Do you know how many?"

I shook my head. "A lot?" I offered weakly. We reached the beginning of the corridor and Minho raised his hand for everyone to stop. Thomas and Teresa, who had come to a stop right behind us, sent the message to stop throughout the group.

Minho glanced around the corner, before jerking back with a look of horror. "Oh, no. There's got to be a dozen of them, at least," He moaned, rubbing his eyes. "They're just waiting for us!"

I put a hand on the Keeper's back, out of sight from the others. I didn't know if it was more for his benefit or for mine. A cold fear was clawing at my throat.

"Well, we knew we'd have to fight," Newt said, but his voice was shaking a bit. Thomas, ever the optimist, tried to ease everyone's panic, but he was cut off by noise from both sides of the T-shaped corridor.

Grievers were coming at us, both from behind and ahead. The Gladers surged to huddle in a group, out in the center of the intersection. We were surrounded on all sides.

Thomas turned his head to look at Newt. "Any ideas?"

"No," the other Glader replied. "I don't understand what they're bloody _waitin' _for."

Alby, who had been almost eerily silent up to that point, spoke: "We shouldn't have come here." His voice was quiet and small like I'd never heard it, but it still echoed in the hallow halls of the Maze. Thomas huffed, a hint of annoyance flashing in his face.

"Well, we're no better off in the Homestead. I hate to say it, but if one of us dies, it's better than all of us."

Alby didn't respond for a long moment. His face scrunched up a bit as if he were confused, or maybe thinking. Debating something, perhaps? He never was very easy for me to read. Suddenly, his face went slack, and my eyes narrowed in suspicion. _What's going on inside that head of his? _

Turns out, we were about to find out just how jacked in the head Alby had gotten.

He took a few slow steps forward, separating himself from the group.

"…Alby?" Newt was staring at the Glade leader with a hint of fear in his eyes.

"Maybe I should…" Alby kept walking in the direction of the Cliff.

"Get back here!"

The leader of the Glade took off running—directly at the Grievers blocking the Cliff, leaping right on top of one. All at once, the Grievers burst to life in a whirl of metal spikes, attacking the Glader.

Newt surged forward, yelling Alby's name, but didn't get more than a few steps before Thomas and I grabbed him by the arms and yanked him backwards.

"Let me go!" Newt struggled fiercely against our hold, trying to get to Alby. I wrapped my arm more securely around his, holding him firmly.

"Are you nuts?" Thomas shouted over the mechanical whirs and Griever moans. Somehow though, the Alby made no sound, even that I could hear. I was thankful for that. "There's nothing you can do!"

"Let him go, Newt," I said quieter. "Let him go."

Newt gave up, slumping backwards in defeat, supported almost entirely by Thomas and I. He didn't look away though; he stared at the spot Alby had disappeared into the herd of Grievers like he was in some sort of trance, likely induced by shock and grief.

"I can't believe he just did that," Newt whispered hollowly as Thomas helped him stand on his own. "I can't believe it."

Thomas looked rather sick, and I felt the same way. Honestly, my heart ached more for Newt than Alby; I had never been super fond of the guy. But still, it was disturbing, especially when you thought about how vehemently against leaving Alby had been. He'd literally rather die than go back to the world he remembered, and I found it deeply unsettling. My head hurt, like a memory was trying to force its way free but failing.

Thomas and Minho were talking strategy, but I was more focused on Newt. I knew what I had to do: if we have to fight, clear a path for Thomas and Teresa to reach the Griever Hole and punch in the code.

"How can you guys be so heartless?" Newt muttered, disgust and venom in his voice.

"What do you want, Newt?" Minho asked, crossing his arms. "Should we all dress up and have a funeral?"

I sent him a disapproving look. In the time I'd known Minho, I quickly realized he wasn't one for delicacy or sensitivity. Neither was I, really, but I at least had _some_ tact, dammit.

Looking towards the Grievers, I decided very quickly, was a mistake. They were smeared with bright red, and they were still snapping and swarming. If they were actual organic life I would have thought they were _eating _Alby. Newt was still staring.

"God, Newt, stop _watching_," I practically begged, feeling a little sick myself. I tugged on his wrist, and he finally, for the first time, looked away. His normally steady charcoal blue eyes were shiny and wide with shock and pain.

Minho continued, thankfully more sympathetically this time, squeezing Newt's shoulder lightly. "Alby didn't want to go back. He freaking _sacrificed _himself for us—and they aren't attaking so maybe it worked. _We'd _be heartless if we wasted that."

Newt just closed his eyes, shrugging noncommittally. Minho turned to face the crowd of Gladers.

"Listen up! Thomas and Teresa getting to the Griever hole is priority number one! Protect them so—"

Grievers roaring to life cut him off. They had gotten bored of Alby's body, it seemed. On all sides, the Grievers were advancing, slowly closing the distance between them and the Gladers like the tightening of a noose.

This could mean only one thing: Alby's sacrifice had failed.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I have to get through that somehow!" Thomas grabbed Minho and nodded towards the Grievers coming from the Cliff. Minho and Newt exchanged a look.

"You lead." Newt's voice was quiet, a far-off whisper. "Do it. Make a bloody path for Tommy and Teresa."

Minho nodded sharply, and I noticed everything about him steeled, his back straightening and his chin lifting ever so slightly. Resolve and leadership practically radiated off him as he commanded the Gladers.

"Head straight for the Cliff!" the Keeper ordered. "Go through the middle, fight the shuck Grievers to the walls to clear a path!"

"Ready!" Minho adjusted his grip on his spear, and I twirled my machetes experimentally. Adrenaline was rushing through my veins, my feet itching to move, and my machetes looking for a fight.

"_Now!_"

The Cliff was an overwhelming cacophony of chaos. The sounds of metal on clashing on metal, Griever's moans and human screams, the smell of dirt and blood, overwhelmed my senses. With a machete in each hand, I tried not to think, and instead let my instincts take over.

Slash. Slash. Dodge. Jump. Slice. Duck. Get your feet knocked out from under you because you weren't fast enough.

Blood blossomed from a shallow cut on my right forearm, after I had tried to block a swipe from a spiked claw. The Griever shrieked and the appendage went in for another hit, but a spear slammed against it just in time.

It was Minho. He whacked the appendage with his spear again, and it went flying from the socket with a _crunch. _

"It's blocking the path," the dark-haired Glader yelled over the noise. "We have to get it back so Thomas and Teresa can get through!"

I nodded, getting to my feet to help Minho, defending him from deadly appendages as he used his spear to force it back to the outer edges of the wide corridor. My ears caught footsteps down the center of the passage: Thomas and Teresa. After they rushed past us to the edge of the Cliff, I glanced at them out the corner of my eye. Huge relief filled me when I saw not two figures, but three. _They're taking Chuck with them. _

With that worry off my chest (it was likely safer inside Griever Hole than it was on the Cliff), I turned all my focus back to fighting and staying alive. Waving Minho off to help a Glader that yelled for him to help, I fended off the Griever we had been fighting on my own. I had to grip one of my machetes tighter, because the blood from my arm was making my hand slick.

I watched in abject horror, as a boy fighting near me was unable to dodge a deadly blow from a bladed appendage. His blood splattered the floor of the Maze. I shook it off and ducked a blow from a blunt instrument.

In my peripheral, I saw a Griever blazing down the path we had previously cleared for Thomas, Chuck, and Teresa. In it's path stood a boy with messy black curls and a sword in his hand.

"Watch out!" I dived at the kid, colliding with him full force and sending both of us rolling across the rock floor. The Griever that had been coming at him roared past us, and disappeared into the Griever Hole. "Damn," I cursed, because now that thing was in there with the other three. "Hey, you ok?"

The kid nodded shakily, helping me up. "Thanks, Ghost."

I was about to say '_don't thank me' _when the boy's eyes zeroed in on something behind me, widening in alarm. I ducked and rolled on instinct, and I saw the flash of his sword swinging right were my head had been. A bladed Griever appendage fell at my feet.

"See, now we're even," I said breathlessly as we turned to face the Griever the boy had just de-limbed. It seemed angry, shrieking loudly and flaring its spikes.

"I'm Danny, by the way," the boy said as we blocked the flailing Griever appendages.

"Charmed." I just barely dodged a spinning saw, which went way to close to my skull for comfort. I noticed the way Danny wielded the sword; he held it somewhat awkwardly and slashed and stabbed with little grace. "Any idea how to use that thing?"

"Barely, but I have an idea. Try and distract its arms." Danny slashed and missed, looking contemplatively at the Griever's back. Spikes snapped in and out of its flesh at intervals.

"What's in your brain?" I asked, trying to go after as many of the Griever's appendages as possible. One sliced through the stomach of my shirt, fortunately leaving behind nothing but a shallow scratch.

Danny didn't answer. Instead, he dodged a few of the arms and jumped up onto the Griever's back, right after the spikes retracted.

"What're you doing?" I yelled, trying to intercept a spiked appendage before it reached the boy standing on the creature's back. It cut into my shoulder, and blood dripped down my back. Danny plunged his sword into the middle of the Griever's back, shoving the blade down to the hilt.

To my shock, liquid I assumed to be oil burst from the Griever's body, splashing up Danny's legs and arms. He managed to yank the sword from the Griever before its screams and thrashing sent him tumbling to the ground. I ran to help him up, and the Griever fell still, lights going dark.

It was dead.

"Good, it worked." I stared at the curly-haired Glader in disbelief. Danny started talking almost faster than I could understand. "See, Grievers are machines, right? So I realized that, in theory, if you could stab it's middle and break enough of it's internal crap, hopefully even it's fuel tank, it'd go dead."

I blinked, so surprised I momentarily forgot that we were in a battle. A spear flashed in my peripheral, and I shouted: "Minho! Stab its back with the spear!"

Minho's eyes flashed over to us, quickly taking in the scene, his eyes widening in the same dismay. However, without wasting time, he waited for the spikes to recede before copying Danny and driving his spear into the monster's slimy flesh.

Similarly, it shrieked and went dead, spilling oil onto the already bloodstained stone floor.

Alarm bells went off in my brain when I saw a Griever burst forward towards Newt, three-pronged claw extended to snatch the Glader's leg. I raced across the corridor, sliding at the last second and catching the device between my two blades, ripping right through it just as it sunk into Newt's leg.

"Bloody hell," Newt groaned, shaking the claw off. His pant leg was torn enough for me to see three shallow wounds on the side of his shin, dripping blood but not that bad. I paid him no more mind and leapt on top of the Griever.

My feet sank into its gooey flesh several inches. _Disgusting,_ I barely had time to think, before blocking an arm that came at me.

"Ghost! Catch!" Frypan tossed me his spear, and I let both my machetes drop as I caught it. I held it with both hands and drove it into the Griever's trembling body with all of my strength. Oil burst forth like it had when Minho and Danny had stabbed their Grievers, soaking my legs. The Griever's mechanical body seized and then went still. My chest heaved with exhaustion. Adrenaline wouldn't be able to keep me on my feet much longer.

Newt voiced my same concern. "We can't do this much longer," he said, sounding out of breath as well. "We need to-"

I never found out what we needed to do, because by some sudden miracle, every single Griever went still. One moment they were a blaze of spikes and flailing appendages, the next their lights went dead and the spiked retracted into their flesh.

I swear, for several seconds, bordering on a minute, every single surviving Glader was rooted to their spots, mouths agape. Then it sunk in.

The Grievers were down. The code must have worked.

"They've done it," I murmured, gazing almost absently at the Griever beneath my feet. I looked up and said it again, meeting Minho, Newt, and Danny's similarly shocked expressions. "They've really done it!"

Newt blinked. "Well, I'll be shucked. It actually worked."

For whatever bizarre reason, I had no idea why, that shocked a laugh from my chest. I lifted one foot from the slimy skin of the dead Griever, then the other before jumping off and landing gracefully in front of Newt.

"Well, who wants to do the honors and go through the Hole first?" Newt asked. The corridor was mostly quiet, the Gladers muttering to each other. Cheering didn't seem right, not with so many dead. But there was a triumphant energy in the air.

"I'll go first," Minho volunteered. "Make sure Thomas, Teresa, and Chuck are ok over there. You shanks watch how it's done."

With that, Minho picked up into a run and leapt through the empty space that was the Griever Hole. Earlier, Runners had come out here ad surrounded the edges with ivy vines, so the borders were clear.

Newt nodded to me. "You buggin' wanna go next? Ladies first, and all that."

"You go ahead," I told him, making a 'go on' gesture with one machete. "I'll make sure everyone gets through."

Newt nodded and followed Minho through the Griever Hole. One by one, Gladers filed through the invisible exit to the Maze. After the last boy was safely on the other side, I paused to survey the scene around me.

It was one of nightmares. Grievers and Gladers both lay scattered about the cliff and corridor. Blood and oil was splattered on the walls and the ground, staining the stone a gruesome reddish black. Nearly half the Gladers were lost in the fight. Looking around, stomach twisting with nausea, I recognized quite a few of the faces, and had names for some of them. The final straw was Jeff, my fellow Med-Jack and friend, who was sprawled on the ground against the wall, a stab wound in his stomach and his neck broken. I fell to my knees and was sick.

I retched and spat until my stomach was empty, leaving the foul taste of bile in my mouth. I wiped my lips with the back of my wrapped hand and stood shakily. I walked to the edge of the cliff, but, before I was about to leave, I had a thought that once again turned my stomach sour and froze me in my tracks. _These boys spent two years in hell, with no memories of a life beyond, gave their lives for our escape, and their bodies will lie here, unmarked and forgotten. _

WICKED might move the bodies, but that didn't stop me from spinning on my heel and plunging one machete down into a crack in the Maze floor. I balanced a nearby stone against the blade and, since there was no time to carve something, dipped one finger into a pool of oil from a Griever and wrote '_The Gladers' _as neatly as possible.

"_Atque in pepetuum, fratres, ave atque vale_." I don't really know where the Latin came from; probably just another random thing from my past that occasionally breaks free. It seemed fitting though, the English translation echoing in my head: _And forever, my brothers, hail and farewell_. Without another look behind, I leapt through the Griever Hole.

**Alright, so that's a thing. This was my first time writing a real battle-type scene, sooooo that's why it's pretty bad. But it's late and I'm late posting this by several hours so this it what you're getting. **

**Question of the Day: Would any of y'all be interested in reading a sequel to this? Or are you ready to be done with me?**

**My Answer: I am planning to do a sequel, centering on the events of the Scorch Trials, but I would like y'all's input. **


	16. Chapter 16

**Okay, this is so surreal. A little over two years on this story, and now it's the last chapter. I AM MAKING A SEQUEL, AND IT WILL BE UP NEXT TUESDAY. Keep an eye on my account; I'll post a sneak peak of the sequel on ****this**** story on Friday. **

**THANK YOU ALL soooooo much. For reading and putting up with my crazy uploading. For favoriting and following, both me as a writer and this story. For reviewing; I read every one and they make me so happy and encourage me to keep working, even when I'm not very inspired. **

**So here it is, y'all. The very last chapter…of What Lurks in the Maze.**

The rest of the Gladers were waiting on the other side, gathered in a group on the far side of the room, flashlight beams illuminating their faces. It was dark, causing my skin to begin glowing almost immediately. The blue of my skin contrasted strangely with the blood on my body, making it look almost purple. Up ahead, I heard Thomas's voice.

"Wait, where's Ghost?"

"I'm here," I called, startling a few of the others, making every head turn to face me. "Sorry. I got held up."

"You okay?" Newt asked, not missing the fact I was one machete short. I waved him off; who is okay right now? I did not say that, however. I did say, in an intentionally awful mimicry of his accent: "Splendid, ol' chap, but we best be gettin' a move on."

Newt huffed and rolled his eyes. "All right then," he said. "Lead the way, Nightlight."

_Oh, good one_, I thought as I lead the procession down the hallway, Minho, Clint, and Frypan right behind me. Thomas headed up the rear with Newt and Teresa, and Chuck stuck to the back, but I gave the kid a one-armed hug in passing. I was relieved when Thomas took Chuck with them. No way he should have to see what was outside.

We walked for a few minutes, when suddenly I took a step to find no floor beneath my feet. I don't know how I hadn't seen it with my glow, but suddenly I was falling, sliding down a steep decline. A startled shriek left my lips as I slid down, whatever it was; it was covered in a layer of greasy filth. I held my machete very carefully so as not to get cut by it's blade. I reached my free hand upwards to find something to slow my decent with, but was only met with more slick, grimy metal. A tube of some sort, probably.

There was a sharp turn, which slowed my momentum enough that it didn't hurt too badly when I landed on the floor of a brightly lit room. I blinked at the sudden light and my glow faded fast.

Not even three seconds had passed before Minho landed on the ground, partially on top of me, with an indignant yelp. Next came Frypan, and, realizing what was happening, I grabbed the two boys by the arms and dragged them away from the entrance to the slide-like tube we had just came from. All three of us had skin that was covered in the grime.

More Gladers emerged from the tube, falling on top of one another. If it weren't such a serious situation, I definitely would have laughed.

The room we had been dropped in was one right out of a science fiction movie. It was huge, and full of computers and beeping machines and strange ducts on the high ceiling. The right side of the room was covered in maybe 40 large white pods that looked disturbingly like coffins, but too big to be for humans.

Grievers. I had no doubt. My head pulsed, like something was banging on a wall inside my brain. An image flashed in my mind: this very room, but it was dark, my glow casting eerie shadows on the walls, and angry voices yelling from behind me.

_I've been here before._

I looked to the left, and gasped, my heart skipping several beats.

The left wall was lined with several windows, and in each window, an adult man or woman was sitting on the other side. They were watching us, intently, unblinking.

"Oh, that is seriously creepy," I murmured under my breath.

These were the Creators.

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Several Gladers took a step backwards in surprise, some looking scared, others confused, and others angry. I was rooted to my spot, blank faced, immediately guarded and on the defensive. My machete was gripped more firmly in my hand.

The Creators were unfazed by our reactions. Some paused to write things down, others nodded, all perfectly unreadable. I might have thought they were fake, some macabre mannequins, except they were breathing.

"Who are these people?" I heard Chuck whisper to Thomas from across the room. Without looking at him, I could sense Minho's body tensing, rigid muscle taunt and face twisted in anger.

"The Creators," Minho spat, disgust practically dripping off his words. "I'm gonna break your faces!"

"What are they waiting for?" I asked lowly, regarding the Creators with unease. Not once in my shattered memory had I ever seen an actual adult, someone over the age of 19.

"They've probably revved the Grievers back up," Newt muttered somewhat absently, staring intently back at the people on the other side of the glass. "They're probably coming for—"

There was a beeping sound, and a door opened on the other side of the room. Two people entered: a woman and a boy with his face hidden.

The woman who had entered the room was a bona-fide adult, maybe 40 years old, with shoulder-length brown hair, glasses, and a thin face. Her expression was impassive, neither smiling nor scowling. WICKED was printed on the breast of her white shirt. The figure at her side had their face hidden by the hood of a sweatshirt. There was an odd rigidness to the way they stood that made me nervous.

"Welcome back," the woman said, her hands clasped in front of her. "Over two years and so few dead. Amazing, really."

I stared at her incredulously. So _few_ dead? Was she serious? Didn't she have any idea how many we'd lost, even today? _Of course she does, _I thought, a vile hatred towards the woman growing in my stomach. _She just doesn't care. _

"_Excuse _me?" Newt gaped at the woman, no doubt feeling the same as I was. Minho's teeth were clenched in a snarl, and Thomas had an angry flush in his cheeks, glaring.

"We expected a few more of you to give up along the way," the woman said, as plainly as if she were telling us what she bought at the grocery store. "But, Mr. Newton, everything went according to plan. Well," she turned her dark-eyed gaze on to me. "Almost everything, that is."

Her perfectly crafted, neutral mask cracked into a scowl when she looked at me. Actually, no, not a scowl; it was more of a disappointed frown. "You've caused us a lot of problems, little girl." She sighed and pushed her glasses up a little. "We were hoping you'd die before reaching this stage in the Trials. But what's done is done."

I clenched my fists angrily, but said nothing.

"Don't talk about Ghost like that!" Thomas snapped, moving closer and glaring at the woman. Minho was staring at her like he was trying to make her explode with his mind.

"Yeah," Minho sneered. "She's worth more than all of your shuck lives combined."

Their anger on my behalf warmed my chest, and my lips quirked upwards in a smile I tried to hide with a steely indifference. The woman pursed her lips slightly in distaste.

"You should learn some respect, boy," She said. "I'd expect a little more maturity from someone who survived the Maze Trials."

Minho opened his mouth to retort, but Newt elbowed him in the ribs to shut him up. The woman pushed up her glasses again.

"One day, you'll all be grateful for what we've done for you. I can only promise this, and trust you to understand. However, there is one final Variable." The woman reached over to her companion, who had been standing silently. She pulled down his hood in one fluid motion. I inhaled sharply, as did all of the other Gladers.

It was Gally.

"Gally?" Newt demanded, shocked. "What's going on? How are you here?"

Looking at Gally sent unease, bordering on panic, down my spine. His skin was pasty, and his reddened eyes were wide and glassy. His whole body was trembling and twitching, his lips pressed together like he was trying to speak but couldn't. Thomas's eyes narrowed.

"Gally?"

"They…can control me…" the words burst forth from Gally's lips, like they took an enormous amount of willpower to say. For a few moments, his eyes had cleared. "I don't—" His eyes bulged and he brought his own hand to his throat and squeezed. "I…have…to…" he choked out. Then his hand dropped and his face slackened, his eyes clouding back over.

Gally reached behind him to his back pocket, pulling out something long and shiny. It was a dagger, wicked sharp and deadly looking. The Glader reeled back and hurled the knife right at Thomas.

Before anyone else had any time to react, Chuck was diving in front of Thomas with a shout. The dagger sunk into Chuck's chest with a nauseating _thunk. _

The boy screamed in pain and collapsed, shaking, red spit staining his lips. Thomas screamed Chuck's name, pulling his seizing form into his arms. Blood soaked Chuck's clothes and Thomas's hands. His eyes rolled back, and I fell to my knees next to my friend in shock and despair.

The fit passed, and Chuck stilled. He was still alive, but not for long. Even as Thomas yelled for help, I knew there was nothing to be done. I took Chuck's hand in mine, squeezing tightly.

"Gho…st," Chuck wheezed, eyes finding my face, then Thomas's. "Thom…mas."

"Hang on, Chuck," Thomas begged, his screams reduced to a pleading whisper. "Please, don't die. Don't leave us."

"Thomas," Chuck put whatever strength he had left into the words. "Find…my mom…tell her…" he couldn't finish, loosing strength fast. Words clawed at my throat, a million things I wanted to say, wanted Chuck to hear. But in the end, only one thing made it past my lips.

_May there always be angels to watch over you,_

_To guide you each step of the way,_

Tears were building in my eyes, and my voice shook. The room was utterly silent, except for the sound of my quiet singing, my voice cracking with emotion. But I pushed past it, a bitter determination to finish the last verse forming through the numbing pain.

_To guard you and keep you safe from all harm,_

_Loo Lee Loo Lee Li Lay_

The others were probably staring, but I couldn't have possibly cared less. All that mattered in the world was Chuck's soft brown eyes; fixated on me, listening as intently as he always had, from the very first day we met and I was singing this very song.

_Loo Lee Loo Lee Li Lay_

Tears slipped down my cheeks when the final words left my lips, and Chuck smiled weakly with bloody lips before his eyes fell shut and his body went limp. His chest rattled with one last breath, and then he was gone.

Dimly, I was aware of Thomas standing and throwing himself at Gally, screaming and throwing punches. But I didn't react; I couldn't, I was frozen, looking down at Chuck's lifeless body, gripping his hand in mine like I could transfer the life in my body to his. Tears were sliding down my face, unable to move or speak or scream.

Minho and Newt were pulling Thomas off of a beaten Gally, and while he fought against them at first, howling, he sunk back in defeat before coming back to Chuck, pulling the boy's body into his arms and sobbing. He sounded like a wounded animal, pure pain in his cries.

Numbly, I thought how I should be in the same state of despair, wracked with sobs, but I was incapable. I was stricken and hollow, like Chuck's loss had left a gaping void where my soul should be.

Thomas eventually straightened, stopping his tears and wiping his cheeks without shame. He got to his feet and held out his hand to me. It took willpower, but I released Chuck's hand from my grasp. If I could have felt anything, seeing it fall lifelessly to Chuck's side would send a fresh stab of pain to my chest.

"All things happen for a reason," the woman said simply, breaking the silence. She didn't give Gally's now unconscious form a second glance as she addressed us. I felt a small spark of outrage, that she'd dare say such a thing, like she was even _sorry_ for what was _her _fault. But it couldn't grow; it was extinguished by the cold nothingness in my chest.

Before anyone could reply, there were shouts and sounds of a commotion outside the room. The woman's face noticeably paled, visibly fearful as she turned towards the door. Right as she did, her chest was riddled with bullets, and she dropped to the ground, dead.

A group of men and women dressed in wet clothes and wielding various types of firearms—pistols, assault rifles, a shotgun or two—burst into the room. Most of them headed to the left, firing at the observation glass. The barrier separating the Creators and us shattered, leaving them vulnerable to the wave of bullets aimed at them.

_Serves them right, _I thought maliciously, without a hint of remorse.

One man diverged from the group and approached the Gladers, lowering his rifle and holding up a hand.

"We're not here to hurt you," he said. "But there's no time for explaining. Just follow me and run like your life depends on it. Because it does."

After barely a moment's hesitation, we ran, making a split second decision that these people were probably on our side. Any enemy of WICKED is a friend of mine. We ran through a series of dimly lit hallways and up stairwells, until we were outside.

It was raining hard. I tried to remember a time I had ever felt the rain. The man continued to usher us until we had reached a large bus.

I barely registered the woman who tried to stop us. She was not like the people in the WICKED facility; she was dirty and mangy and covered in sores and open wounds. She howled and screeched about saving everyone from something called 'the Flare'.

The man who rescued us whacked her away from our group with the butt of his gun, pointing it at her head.

"Get back!" He shouted, then with a free hand waved us onto the bus. "Get in, quickly!"

We hurried to board the bus. I collapsed into a seat between Clint and Minho, Frypan, Newt, and Jack sitting across from us. The driver gunned it, driving fast into the dark. The vehicle lurched like we had run over something, but then drove smoothly.

At the front of the bus, Thomas and Teresa were grilling one of the soldiers, a woman with a pistol strapped to her hip. The woman talked of a sun-scorched world ravaged by an affliction of the mind, an extremely contagious, incurable disease called the Flare that destroyed a person's humanity.

Right at that moment, I couldn't have cared less. My eyelids drooped, exhausted, and my head fell to the side as I drifted off to sleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I don't know how long we were driving before Clint woke me, shaking my shoulder lightly. I realized with a tinge of embarrassment I had been leaning against Minho as I slept. He didn't seem to mind, though.

The rescuers ushered us off of the bus and across a mostly-empty parking lot, and into a plain building with rows of windows. Inside and up a flight of stairs, the interior was set up like a dormitory, with a commons area full of tables and two separate rooms full of bunk beds.

As we entered the space, a man came up to take my machete, but as the other Gladers who were still armed surrendered their weapons, I narrowed my eyes and held it close to my chest.

"I think I'll hang on to it for a little while longer," I said stiffly. They may have brought us away from WICKED, but I still didn't fully trust them. To my surprise, the man backed off and nodded.

"Later, then," he said. I didn't reply, moving back to be with the rest of the Gladers. We were assigned beds and passed out new clothes, and Teresa and I were brought to our bedroom, separate from the boys. There were four bunk beds along one wall and two dressers on the opposite. The walls were a light green, and the beds had soft red blankets.

"—pick out your beds, and put on these clothes," the rescuer who had brought the two of us to our room was saying, setting the clothes down atop on one of the dressers.

"Thanks a lot," Teresa said, taking the clothes. "Can you leave us to change?"

The rescuer nodded, walking out and closing the door. Teresa handed me my new shirt, pants, and underthings. Good, mine were torn and bloody. However, before I put on my new clothes, I made sure to stash my machete somewhere safe.

When I put on the clothes, it really hit me how dirty I was. The rain had washed a lot of it away, and I had gotten used to being covered in a layer of dirt (it came with living in a Maze with no shower), but being in such a clean place made it obvious and uncomfortable.

When the announcement came that it was time for dinner, I wanted even more to be able to wash up. My hands were still stained with dried blood. _Chuck's blood, _my mind supplied, and I wanted to throw up.

"D-do you have a bathroom?" I asked faintly. The woman nodded and pointed. "Thanks."

I leaned against the door to push it open. It was white and ceramic and stainless inside, and I felt even dirtier than before. I numbly scrubbed the blood from my hands, Chuck's blood, the water flowing pink into the brain. But it wouldn't come off.

I turned up the heat of the water and scrubbed viciously at the skin of my hand and forearms, but, no matter how hard I tried, they stayed stained with the blood of my friend, my little brother. There wasn't enough scalding water in the world to remove it. A choked sob escaped my throat as the tears I hadn't realized were falling intensified. I scratched at my hands with my nails in the burning water, desperate.

"Ghost, stop!" A pair of hands grabbed my arms from behind and pulled me away from the sink. "You're hurting yourself!"

"No! No, I have to get it off! Let me go, let me go!" I cried, hysterical.

The hands spun me around. It was Minho, a somewhat panicked look on his face. He lifted our hands up in front of me.

"It's gone, Ghost. The blood's gone. It's gone."

He was right. My hands were red and raw from the burning water, and crisscrossed with shallow scratches, but clean of blood. It was gone.

"He's gone," I whispered.

Minho's eyes were sad. "Yeah. Yeah he is."

Whatever had been holding back my grief, be it shock of adrenaline or whatever, completely snapped. My whole body shook with the force of my sobs. Minho wrapped his arms around my torso and held me there as I beat my fists against his chest, despair making me forget I cared about looking strong.

Eventually, after what could have been minutes or hours or days (okay, probably not the latter), I tired myself out and my sobs slowed then stopped all together. Minho didn't judge me, only wiped tears from my cheeks and offered me a towel to clean my face with.

After helping each other clean our bodies of any remaining blood and grime, we walked out into the common room together. The Gladers were all seated at the tables, eating pizza. Actual pizza. Newt and Thomas had saved the two of us seats at their table with Teresa, Frypan, and Winston.

Despite the nauseating horrors we'd seen that day, we all ate ravenously, starving and needing the energy. For the most part, there was silence, a few hushed conversations throughout the room. Plenty of people were smiling though.

Dinner had come and past when one of the staff women said: "Alright, everyone, I think it's time for bed. You've all had a very hard day and need to rest."

I couldn't have agreed more.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

There was a knock on Teresa and I's door shortly after they called lights out. The door opened and a woman stepped into the room.

"Hello," she said. "I just wanted to make sure you girls were settling in and had everything you needed."

"We're good, thanks," I said. The woman looked around, only seeing me. "Teresa's in the shower," I supplied.

"Ah. And you?" she asked. "Where's your machete?"

"Oh that?" I shifted my mattress a bit, rearranging the pillows. "I gave it to one of the other staff before lights out."

The staff woman's eyes narrowed slightly. She came up to stand on the other side of my bed, across from me. She lifted up my pillows and searched under my mattress. Nothing was there.

I raised my eyebrows and crossed my arms over my chest. "Looking for something?"

The woman at least had the grace to look a little bit embarrassed. "Sorry, just making sure. Goodnight."

With that, the woman left the room. Just as the door shut behind her, the bathroom door opened and Teresa stepped out, dressed in soft pajamas and her hair wet.

"Who was that?"

"Some woman wanting to search me for weapons," I said, pulling back the covers and getting in to bed. "She looked under my mattress."

Teresa snorted a little. "Can you blame her? You're pretty dangerous. I'm guessing she didn't find anything."

"You sure know how to flatter a girl," I said. "And nope, nothing. Think I'm stashing weapons in obvious places? I'm offended you think so little of me."

Teresa's only reply was a small laugh as she flicked off the lights. In a couple seconds, my skin was glowing, as usual.

"Sorry," I said to the other girl as she climbed into the bottom bunk of the bed to my left. "It'll fade when I fall asleep."

"No, it's fine. It's cool, actually." In the blue light, I could see Teresa. She was lying on her back, staring at the bottom of the bunk above her. "I wonder why it happens though."

"If there's a reason, I don't know it," I said. All I knew is that I wouldn't have survived the Maze without it. As aggravating as it could be sometimes, I'd never want to be without it.

"Hey Ghost?" Teresa piped up, breaking a bout of silence.

"Mm?"

"I'm really sorry about Chuck." Teresa's voice was quiet and soft. "You know you couldn't have done anything, right?"

Just the mention of Chuck triggered a sharp stab of pain in my chest. "I…yeah, I know," I sighed. "Still hurts like a mother, though." A choked, bitter laugh fell from my lips. "I didn't even know him for very long. But…it still…"

"It's not about time. You two really had a connection," Teresa whispered sympathetically.

I appreciated it, genuinely. She didn't make me feel silly or weak or anything similar. Moreover, she reassured me it was OK to feel grief. I…really needed to hear that.

"Thank you."

She didn't ask what for; I guess she knew. I wondered if that's why she had brought it up in the first place. What she did say, however, was: "Goodnight, Ghost."

I settled further down into the bed, pulling the sheet up to my chin but leaving the thicker blanket down at my waist. I closed my eyes and tried to clear my head, focusing on how exhausted I was.

"Goodnight, Teresa."

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**To everyone who's been reading for a while, thanks for coming on this crazy journey with me. To those of you who just found this today, thanks for reading! I hope you all enjoyed this. Until next time…*****salutes* ****GG out.**


	17. Sequel Preview!

**This is just a little snippet from the first chapter of the sequel to 'What Lurks in the Maze'. Yes, it's short, but whatever. It's just a preview. **

**Anyway, the sequel will be called 'Scorched Earth Policy', and the first chapter will be uploaded on my profile on Tuesday. Keep an eye out!**

That night, I dreamed of darkness.

_The world around me was pitch black, and I was unable to see a thing. My glow wasn't working. The ground was hard and cold underneath my feet. All around me, I could hear screams, Griever moans and shrieks, but it was all as if from far away. I began to hear people calling my name._

"_Ghost, help me!"_

_It was Thomas, I was sure of it. I ran towards where I thought his cries were coming from, but they never seemed to get any closer. Unable to see, I tripped over something and fell to my hands and knees. Thomas's screams for help got louder, and others joined his voice. Minho. Newt. Teresa. Clint. Chuck. _

_All of them were begging for me to help them, as the Griever sounds got louder, and all the voices were coming from different directions. They sounded so far away. No matter how much I ran, I never seemed to be getting any closer. _

My eyes flew open, and I stared up at the bed above me, chest heaving. I was still reeling from the nightmare, so it took me a few seconds to realize I wasn't alone in the room. I heard them first, but then my glow kicked in and I could see them in the pale blue light.

Two of the people, a man and a woman, wore lab coats and dark pants, while the others, maybe there were four of them, were dressed like soldiers, weapons strapped across their backs. Their faces were covered, goggles over their eyes. The two scientist-looking people in lab coats were bent over Teresa's bed. One of them had what looked like an oxygen mask pressed over her mouth and nose.

"Teresa!" I shouted, making all heads turn towards me. Stupid? Maybe, but I needed Teresa to wake up. Sure enough, Teresa's eyes flew open, widening, and kicked and struggled to get away from the two people standing over her, wrenching away from the mask.

"What the—" one of the soldier cried out, in a gruff older man's voice. "Grab them!"

The soldier nearest to the door snatched Teresa's arm as she tried to run, pinning her arms behind her back and holding her in place. Teresa fought against them weakly, but seemed dazed. I wondered if it had something to do with whatever they had been making her breathe.

With the exit blocked, I leapt up out of bed and onto the top bunk of the bed to my left, trying to reach my machete before I was inevitably caught. I was about to dig into the mattress to retrieve it, cursing myself for hiding it do well, when a hand wrapped around my ankle in an iron grip and yanked me to the floor with a _thud. _

The soldier pinned me like Teresa, but I kicked back at them, driving my foot repeatedly into their knee.

"Restrain her!" the older man commanded, and the last remaining soldier came to my captor's aid. Their combined strength was too much; I was forced to my knees, one of them leaning almost painfully on the backs of my shins and the other holding my arms.

Teresa cried out my name, trying to get away, only for her captor to cover her mouth with a gloved hand, muffling her voice.

"There was only supposed to be one of them!" one of the soldiers, the one who had my legs secured, said. His voice was male, and he sounded young.

The one who was holding my arms grunted. "What's with her skin? She's not radioactive is she, Captian?" It was a woman's voice this time.

"No, not exactly. This is the little lab rat who ran away a couple years back," the older man, apparently the captain, said, grabbing my chin. I wrenched my jaw out of his grasp, growling and attempting to bite him. He pulled his hand away quickly. "Found her way into the Maze."

"How is she even still alive?" The first soldier, the young man, asked, disbelieving and sounding almost in awe.

"Doesn't matter," the soldier holding my arms snapped. "What do we do with her, Captain?"

The man stared at me in silence for a moment, and for a second I could see his eyes through his dark goggles, cold and unfeeling. Then, he said:

"Kill her."

**To be continued in full.**

**Question of the Day: What was your favorite scene from What Lurks in the Maze? Could be something that made you laugh or just something you liked. I'm curious and would like your feedback. **

**And obviously review if you have anything else you'd like to comment on/question. I'll see it. **


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